III.

A PINE-CONE FIRE.

Not two, not three, but twenty! Now half of twenty more-- Huge cones that the kings of the forest, the kings of the forest bore. Now, snap and blaze and sparkle, oh, banners of fire that flow Towards fire of the stars! Glow royally, hearthstone, glow; Burn, cones, in fiery blossoms. Each crown-like flower disclose Your petals of coals that drop down in ashes of rose.

_Minna Caroline Smith._

[Illustration]

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

I.--HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

BY J. MOTT HALLOWELL.

(Continued from page 241.)

ROWING.

A History of the development of boating at Cambridge would in itself fill a large-sized volume, and would only be a repetition of what has been often written before. The boating interest of the college dates its rise from a time long antecedent to that of any other athletic contests, as we understand them now, and the first intercollegiate race, in 1852, was rowed more than ten years before Harvard began her intercollegiate baseball games. At first desultory races with Yale were rowed, in which Harvard was usually victorious; then the National Rowing Association of American Colleges was formed, and Harvard annually sent a crew to the Intercollegiate regatta. About this time also, 1869, a four-oared crew was sent to England, but was defeated by six seconds in a four-mile race with Oxford University. Endless disputes, before and after the races, and the occurrence of many fouls caused by the large number of entries, at last caused Harvard and Yale to withdraw in disgust from the National Rowing Association, and in 1878 were begun the annual boat races between the two colleges, rowed on the Thames at New London. These races are still continued and now form the only intercollegiate boat races in which the university crew rows. For seven years Columbia also rowed on the same course, but last year this race was abandoned. With Yale eleven races have been rowed over the Thames course, Yale winning six and Harvard five.

Of all athletic training at Cambridge, that for the university crew is the longest and most trying. Soon after college opens in the fall, the captain collects a crew of the most promising candidates who are not in training for football, and begins a little desultory practice on the river. About the first of December the work begins in earnest and from then until the Yale race the following June, the candidates for the crew pursue systematic training. During the winter, social pleasure is cut down, as the men have to be in bed at an early hour, with possibly the privilege of sitting up one night in the week. Daily practice is taken upon the rowing-machines in the gymnasium accompanied by light chest-weight work and a run out-of-doors. As soon as the ice is off the river, the crew begins work on the water and soon after goes to a training table for the rest of the year. Then not only are regular hours of retiring necessary, but the men must report at eight o’clock every morning for a short walk before breakfast. This sort of training accompanied by work on the river, gradually increased in severity, continues until the last of June, the day of the Yale race.

The Charles River flows within five minutes’ walk of the college yard, furnishing a fairly good piece of water for practice; and a little over a mile below the college, it opens into “the basin,” a broad sheet of water almost two miles in length. On this course are rowed the class races every May. The three principal rowing events of the year at Harvard are comprised in these class-races, the Freshman race with Columbia College and the contest with Yale University.

THE LACROSSE TEAM.

[Illustration: THE LACROSSE TEAM.]

FOOTBALL.

In October, 1872, the first University Football Association was formed at Harvard. At this time football as a game was but little known in the United States; a few of the other colleges had formed a league, but the character of their game was absolutely different from that now played in America. It was modeled after the English “Association” game, and was played entirely with the feet; the ball could not be touched by the hands while the game was in progress, but instead was kicked or “dribbled” by the player in making his runs. At Harvard the game had a strong resemblance to our present method, and American football is a distinct outgrowth of a rough, rushing game as played for some fifty years on the college campus at Cambridge, a game at first modeled on no pattern, begun with no rules, but of an irregular, unrestrained growth, a sort of curious combination of “Association” football as played in England, and the college rush of those days in which an unlimited use of the hands and fists was allowed in order to gain possession of the coveted prize. About the year 1872, however, some Harvard men who had become acquainted with the English “Rugby” game, seeing the resemblance between it and the Harvard game, made a careful study of the former, and recognizing the need of regular rules, adopted a set of rules peculiarly like the Rugby, but adapted to the method of play then in vogue at Cambridge.

Thus was evolved a regular game limited by rules which were the result of a curious combination of three different factors: the game informally played by “sides” chosen from athletically inclined students, the rough fights of the Freshman and Sophomore classes in the annual rush, and lastly the influence of the adapted rules of the English Rugby game.

[Illustration: THE CREW AT THEIR WINTER WORK.]

In the fall of 1874 Yale issued a call to Princeton, Harvard, Columbia and Rutgers to form an Intercollegiate Football Association, but Harvard could not join, because her game was so radically different from that played at the other colleges. The Yale _Record_ remarked: “Harvard said that her game was so strictly scientific as to prevent her from ever contending with other colleges whose games were so entirely devoid of skill.” If Harvard had consented to join the League, American football to-day would be a very different game, but she could not have retained her own rules as they were fundamentally different from those in use at the other four colleges, and they, naturally wishing to retain their own rules, could have out-voted her. By her action in refusing to join the League, and her superiority--principally shown in games against Canadian teams--she forced first Yale and then the other colleges to adopt the Harvard game. In 1875 the first Yale-Harvard game was played under the Rugby Union Rules, practically the same as those used at Cambridge; and in 1876 the Intercollegiate Football Association was formed between Harvard, Yale, Columbia and Princeton. The game that Harvard introduced, Yale and Princeton have since developed.

[Illustration: HARVARD SHOOTING CLUB.]

In 1875 Harvard defeated Yale by four goals and four touch-downs to nothing. The next year she suffered defeat from Yale by one goal to three touch-downs, and since that time the Cambridge team has won not a single Yale game, and only a few from Princeton. The season of 1884 was especially disastrous. In vain the college paper, the _Crimson_, published semiweekly exhortations to the players to play better football, and to the undergraduates to take more interest in the team. The make-up of the eleven was excessively weak, and both the players and the rest of the undergraduates seemed indifferent concerning its success, so that at the close of the season it was disgracefully beaten by Yale and Princeton, and was defeated even by Wesleyan and the University of Pennsylvania. The undergraduates felt little regret when the Athletic Committee, who had for a long time been opposed to the game on account of its brutality as then played, announced that they considered it “brutal and demoralizing,” and that thereafter Harvard was forbidden to engage in any Intercollegiate football games. For a year the rule was enforced, but in 1886 it was reconsidered and Harvard again took her place in the football arena.

[Illustration: THE CREW’S NEW LONDON QUARTERS.]

That year’s rest was fortunate, for it served as a breathing spell in which the college could pause and reflect for a brief space, so as to discern just what the fault was that had sent Harvard to the rear in football, while she still retained her prominent position in other games. When in 1886 she was allowed to resume her old position in the League, she began work with a grim determination to recover her lost prestige. With comparatively untried material to work upon, Brooks, ’87, the new captain, produced an eleven which was second only to Princeton and Yale. The record of Captain Holden’s eleven in 1887, the defeat of Princeton, the game lost to Yale at the New York Polo Grounds, and the dissatisfaction and dispute over the result, are still too fresh in the memory to need repetition.

The football played at Cambridge in the last two seasons shows that Harvard has regained her position as one of the leaders on the football field. For the seven or eight preceding years, Harvard football had been nothing more than a weak imitation of the game of Yale and Princeton. Upon the re-establishment of Harvard in the League, in the autumn of 1886, the game was first played with a slight attempt at originality. But the previous decline had been too great to admit of more than an attempt, and most of the time had to be spent in learning what the other colleges already knew. In 1887 for the first time in many years Harvard began the season on an equal footing with Yale and Princeton, with an equal knowledge of the science of the game and as clear a perception of what the requirements of the coming year would be. Instead of tamely imitating the game of the previous year as played by the two other colleges, she mapped out a plan of work of her own, and developed a scientific, heavy, rushing game, a system in striking contrast to the Yale and Princeton style, and entirely different from the heavy, bull-headed, rushing game as played by all the colleges six years ago. This style of play had its defects, but it possessed that which more than counterbalanced them all--it showed that at last Harvard football was logical and scientific, original in its conception and systematic in its play, and that the college again had taken her position as one of the leaders in the development of the American game of football.

LACROSSE.

Although lacrosse is not a game very generally adopted in this country, it has been successfully played at Cambridge for nearly ten years. The Association is but a young brother of the other clubs, having been formed as late as 1879. It was quickly followed in 1881 by the formation of the Intercollegiate League, with Harvard as a leading member, and in 1881, 1882, 1883, 1885, 1886 and 1887 the lacrosse championship fell to Cambridge, and in two of these years the Oelrich’s Cup was also secured at the annual tournament in New York. When lacrosse was first played at Cambridge, fifteen dollars expended for advertising and policemen, and seven dollars received as gate receipts was not an unknown experience at a championship game. But successful teams, and the natural advantages of the game, have gradually extended its popularity, and now each year the rapidly increasing number of players attests the growing interest felt by the college.

There are also many other athletic clubs of more or less importance in the college, which, however, seldom take part in intercollegiate games--the polo, shooting, canoe and bicycle clubs, and the sparring association. In tennis, Harvard has furnished some of the leading players in the country--R. D. Sears, H. A. Taylor, J. S. Clark, P. S. Sears and Q. A. Shaw; and the extent to which the game is now played is shown by the fact that, in reply to the questions of the Faculty athletic committee, out of 1,031 men who replied, over 600 named tennis as one of their usual forms of outdoor exercise.

FACULTY REGULATION OF ATHLETICS.

In 1882 there entered into Harvard Athletics a new factor, in the shape of interference with, or rather attempted guidance of, athletics by the college authorities. With this purpose in view, a committee on athletics was appointed, consisting of Prof. C. E. Norton, Prof. J. W. White and Dr. Sargent; a committee which for a time was more discussed, more abused, and more misunderstood than any other unfortunates who ever had the complimentary misfortune of being appointed to guide college athletes into the path they ought to follow. The immediate cause of its appointment was to prevent several abuses which the Faculty believed they saw increasing coincidently with the growth of intercollegiate athletics.

The public sentiment of the undergraduates was favorably inclined toward the regulating action of the Faculty, and although some of the overzealous raised an outcry against any interference on the ground that such would injure their chances of success, the majority and the more cool-headed undergraduates agreed that some regulation of the growth of athletics was needed.

The members of the committee were all very strongly of the opinion that athletics were essential to the highest welfare of the students; but at the same time they thought they saw tendencies growing which, unless checked, would be likely to more than offset all the advantages which were to be gained. They felt that the drift of affairs during the past few years had been toward the effacement of that clearly defined line which separates amateur from professional athletics, and that for the preservation of intercollegiate athletics a strict observance of this line was necessary. The first step in interfering with the _laissez faire_ system of athletics was to dismiss the men employed as trainers by the Athletic Association, and to forbid any “professional” trainer from appearing on the college grounds. Till that time each would-be athlete had chosen his own trainer, usually the professional selected by the H. A. A., but often some professional walker or sprinter who had no connection with the college. As a result petty disputes arose among the various trainers, and were continued on the track; and there was bitter rivalry in obtaining the best runners, in order to secure the advertisement of having trained a “record” man. Of course, imbued with this feeling, the trainers neglected the development of the weaker men who entered into track athletics for the sake of exercise, but with no hope of breaking a record. It was to remedy this evil that the committee on athletics forbade professional trainers to appear upon the college grounds. At the same time, realizing how necessary it was for the men in training to have some one to look after them, they sent a request to the corporation that some man might be appointed with a fixed salary, to have a place in the gymnasium and to act as a trainer for all the athletes. Their recommendation was accepted, and after a delay of about a year Mr. J. G. Lothrop was engaged to superintend the general exercise of all the track men, and also the special work of those training for the intercollegiate games, and he was installed in the gymnasium as “assistant in the department of physical science.” The satisfaction occasioned by this change has borne fruit in the large number who now work in the gymnasium classes during the winter, the many candidates for the intercollegiate team of track athletes, and the brilliant record of the team in annual intercollegiate games.

The second step taken by the committee, in 1882, was to prohibit the Harvard baseball nine from playing games against professionals. Previous to this, President Eliot had written to the Faculties of all the colleges with which the Harvard nine played matches, asking them whether they would forbid the nines of their respective colleges to play games with professional clubs in case Harvard took the initiative. Affirmative answers were received from all except Yale, and she alone rejected the proposition. Nevertheless, in October, 1882, the Harvard athletic committee forbade the nine to play further games against professionals; but the other colleges, instead of adopting the plan, as, naturally, it was supposed they would, neglected to support the position taken by Harvard, and up to the present time every college nine in the country except Harvard is allowed professional practice. At Cambridge the rule has been strictly enforced since it was adopted in 1882.

If the athletic committee won any favor with the undergraduates by their successful regulation of track and field athletics, it was all lost by this baseball regulation. The step was taken with the idea of drawing a strongly marked line between amateurs and professionals, thus effectually preventing the professional tendency from increasing in college athletics; and also to prevent the game from becoming a monopoly played by a few skilled players, instead of being participated in by the whole college. It was a measure passed with a good aim, but nevertheless one which has flown wide of its mark, for its only practical result has been to heavily handicap the Harvard nine.

When any game in any branch of athletics is successfully played by a university team, experience shows that greater interest is always aroused throughout the entire college in that particular sport; that more “scrub” teams are formed, and a larger number of undergraduates practise the game, than when they have only a weak, defeated university team as a model. A higher standard of ’varsity play may, perhaps, lessen the number of candidates for the team; but these candidates form only a very small proportion of the number who incidentally play the game, while the greater enthusiasm aroused largely increases the number of mediocre players. Thus this prohibition, besides weakening the nine, besides enforcing more work on the captain and the team, really defeats the very aim that the committee had in view, and lessens rather than increases the number of men who play the game for general recreation.

As regards the anti-professional reason, it is impossible to say what would be the status of the Harvard nine if this rule had not been passed. Judging from the other college nines who annually play professionals for practice, there would be but little difference from what now exists. The difference, so difficult to discover on the ball field, exists chiefly in the minds of men whose knowledge of baseball is derived principally from discussions in the college Faculty meetings. Although it is difficult to surmise how even there such a discriminating distinction can be drawn between local unrestrained, would-be-but-couldn’t-be professionals, and the disciplined league players; the former eager by any means fair or foul, to score a point against the “college boys,” the latter playing a practice game simply as a business matter. The Harvard Faculty, it is presumed, do not approve of professional sparring as an avocation for students, but they have not yet forbidden undergraduates to take lessons of competent teachers, even although the latter may have occasionally fought a prize-fight; and such lessons are deemed even less contaminating, from a professional point of view, than would be friendly and unpaid bouts with celebrated locals who hoped in the future to enter the ring.

The position of the committee towards college football has been unique. Football in this country is a game still in a state of development, and the Harvard athletic committee have taken an active part in developing it in the right direction. In November, 1883, the attention of the committee was first called to a serious consideration of football. The game as played that fall was one of the roughest ever played in the country; and of a kind of roughness where brutality and unfair play were put at a premium. On Thanksgiving Day, Harvard was scheduled to play the final championship game with Yale on the Polo Grounds, New York. Imagine the chagrin and astonishment of the undergraduates when, on November 22, a letter was received from the committee by R. M. Appleton, the captain of the eleven, stating that Harvard would not be allowed to play any more intercollegiate games, until substantial changes in the rules were made. Some of these rules appeared to the committee “to allow of no other inference than that the manly spirit of fair play is not expected to govern the conduct of all players, but on the contrary, that the spirit of sharpers and roughs has to be guarded against. The committee believes that the games hotly played under these rules have already begun to degenerate from a manly, if rough, sport, into brutal and dangerous contests. They regard this as a serious misfortune in the interest of the game, which, if played in a gentlemanly spirit, may be one of the most useful college sports as a means of physical development. They regret that they did not give earlier attention to the character of these rules, and thus earlier come to the conclusion which they have now reached, namely, that the Harvard eleven cannot be allowed to take part in any further intercollegiate match games until substantial changes in the rules have been made.” The objectionable rules were:

Rule 19. The referee shall disqualify any player whom he has _warned twice for intentional_ off-side play, _intentional_ tackling in touch or _intentional_ violation of Rule 28.

Rule 28. No kicking, throttling, butting, tripping-up, tackling below the hips, or striking with closed fists shall be allowed.

Rule 38. No players shall _intentionally_ lay hands upon or interfere with an opponent unless he has the ball.

In other words, a man could intentionally knock down another player with a straight blow from the shoulder; he could do it again if he wished, but not until he had done it the third time could he be disqualified. It was to this and its practice that the athletic committee objected. Most of the New York papers sneered at it as “Harvard delicacy;” while a scatter-brained undergraduate, in an open letter in the _Crimson_, abused the committee for obliging our eleven to break its agreement, for robbing the Yale team of some $1,500, its expected share in the gate-money, and ended by solemnly declaring, “We sincerely hope that the time will sometime come when our feelings of honor will have some weight with the Faculty in its decisions.”

That the athletic committee, however, were not irredeemably lost to all consideration of the honor of the students and were not quite as prudish or unreasonable as the New York press represented them, was soon shown by their allowing the game to be played when the respective captains of the Harvard and Yale teams informed them that the objectionable rules had been changed. The important changes were that the referee was allowed to disqualify a player without any previous warning, and that no more than two disqualified men on either side should have their places filled by substitutes; also that no player should lay hands on or interfere with an opponent unless he had the ball. The game was played, and, as was expected, Harvard was beaten. The football of the succeeding year was fully as bad as it had been in 1883, and consequently there was a large body among the students ready to support the athletic committee when, at the close of the season, they announced that they considered the game as then played to be brutal and demoralizing, and on this account should request the Faculty to prohibit Harvard from playing it against other colleges. A short delay was granted before presenting this report in order to give the students a chance for a hearing; but no satisfactory results came from the delay, and in January, 1885, Harvard was forbidden to engage in any more intercollegiate football contests.

So much has been said and written about this action of the athletic committee, so much abuse has been heaped by the newspapers on the “Harvard dudes,” and so much misrepresentation has been spread abroad concerning the so-called “Harvard daintiness,” that it is only fair, even at this late date, to consider, for a few moments, what it was that influenced the committee in their action, and whether this Harvard daintiness was the result of an unmanly avoidance of the roughness of the game, or whether it was actuated by a feeling that no sport encourages true manliness when it has such an alloy of brutality and unfair play as football had at that period.

The committee had attended the four principal championship games of the season, and at each of these games they had stationed themselves in different parts of the field, in order to notice what seemed to be the objectionable features of the play. Their report says: “In every one of these games there was brutal fighting with the fists when the men had to be separated by other players, or by the judges and referee, or by the bystanders and the police. In addition there were numerous instances where a single blow was struck, instances that occurred in every one of the games. A man was felled by a blow in the face in the Harvard-Princeton game, in the Harvard-Yale game and in the Yale-Princeton game. In the Wesleyan-Pennsylvania game a man was thrown unfairly, out of bounds, by an opposing player. Then, as he was rising, but before he was on his feet, his antagonist turned, struck him in the face and knocked him down, and returned in triumph with the ball. In all of the games the manifestations of gentlemanly spirit were lacking--the spirit that scorns to take an unfair advantage of an opponent. The teams _played to win_ by fair means or by foul. If two teams are at all evenly matched, and one plays a gentlemanly and the other an unfair game, the self-respecting team will always be beaten.... In the four games which we attended there were but two cases where a player was punished for brutal or unfair play. In several cases the team was punished by having a ‘down’ given to the other side, but only twice was a man disqualified.”

In 1885 an important change was made in the personnel of the committee by increasing their number from three to five; of the five members two to be representative undergraduate athletes, one a recent graduate, one a physician, resident in Boston or in Cambridge, and the director of the gymnasium, who is also a member of the Faculty. The other colleges, urged on by a natural spirit of progress in the development of football, and spurred still further by the public attention which had been attracted to its abuses, had materially altered its character. The committee carefully watched it progress as shown in the championship contests between the other colleges, and after careful consideration, came to the conclusion that a decided change had taken place; that it had largely lost its brutality, and, although rough, its roughness was of a kind that often encouraged a manly spirit; that although still far from perfect, it was but in a transient stage of development, and that the new rules, with a few slight exceptions, had proved efficacious in regard to the evils they sought to remedy. They therefore recommended that the Faculty should allow Harvard to renew her intercollegiate games of football. The report was accepted and Harvard was reinstated in her position in the intercollegiate league.

Since the reinstatement of Harvard into the football league, no important action has been taken by the athletic committee. The committee have been much abused, and still more ridiculed, but a calm survey of the work they have done, however much one may differ with them on a few measures, must be convincing that they have been needed as a restraint upon the exceeding growth and concomitant abuses of athletics, and that their work has usually been successful.

The formation and growth of the different athletic organizations up to about 1882 formed by itself a distinct period in Harvard athletics; then began a new period, marked by their curtailment, or, more justly speaking, the curtailment of what seemed to be their abuses, by Faculty restrictions. Within the last few years has begun still a third period, marked by distinctly new athletic action; this is the curtailment by the students themselves of Harvard participation in intercollegiate athletics; a feeling that the intercollegiate athletic interests of the college have become too complicated and too cumbrous, and that action should be taken to restrain them.

When, in order to win an intercollegiate athletic meeting, it is necessary, as is the case, not only to send good athletes upon the field, but also to train good amateur detectives in order to ferret out unfair entries from other colleges, the time certainly has arrived when some sharp remedy should be applied. Often, it may be, these unfair entries are not sought by the college under whose colors they compete, they may be simply “mug hunters,” attracted by the rich prizes, and the wide reputation which attaches itself to an intercollegiate prize-winner; but, nevertheless, such entries are oftener and more easily made, and are more readily winked at when there are thirteen colleges and over two hundred entries, than when there are only two colleges and fifty entries. A clearly drawn distinction between college and non-college athletics is absolutely essential for the true welfare of college athletics, and this line it is hard to preserve in any large intercollegiate league.

Never yet has there been a large intercollegiate league in any important branch of athletics which has not been productive of bitter ill-feeling and charges of unfair play. The generous rivalry begun on the athletic field has far too often borne fruit at the conventions in underhand combinations worthy only of those political conventions of which they are cheap imitations, and too often victory on the athletic field must be preceded by a victory on paper, insignificant, perhaps, to the uninitiated, but which under its apparently harmless words conceals the future _coup d’état_ by which victory is to be won. The defeated team, smarting at the recognition that it has been tricked, is obliged quietly to submit or be taunted with not having pluck enough to accept defeat; or else it may carry on a wordy war which no one outside the college understands, which brings no satisfaction, and which usually ends in nothing being accomplished. This is followed the next year very naturally by a sullen determination to return the compliment, not only on the field but also in the convention. These disputes, this ill-feeling, this idea that victory even meanly won, is well won, are real troubles which must be guarded against. They are practical signs of a partial disappearance of the line which ought to separate professional from college athletics, and the origin of them is largely due to the existence of intercollegiate leagues.

No quack medicine in the shape of edicts against what the world calls “professionals,” will stop this tendency. Such attempts remind one of the nobleman who, because his son was nightly attacked by the nightmare, hung all the old women, so-called witches, in his neighborhood, instead of regulating the boy’s evening diet. Nor can the trouble be prevented by abolishing all intercollegiate contests. Such a remedy would be like cutting off a man’s hand in order to extract a splinter. This plan was proposed last spring in an eccentric report presented by a majority of the committee on athletics appointed by the board of overseers, but, nipped in the bud by its own apparent weakness, it was suffered to pass quietly out of sight. The Faculty, however, aroused by the fresh importance attached to the subject, appointed a committee to investigate thoroughly the entire athletic question; statistics were collected having reference to the general standing in college of athletic men, and the effect of athletic sports upon the colleges as a whole; and the conclusion reached was that, although several abuses still exist, they are greatly overestimated; that the physical standard of undergraduates has been greatly raised since the general introduction of athletics; that as a usual thing the rank of athletic men is higher than the average, and the report ended by recommending the authorities at once to secure fresh land for new athletic ground, and to build an addition to the gymnasium. This report representing--as concerns athletics--the most conservative college in the country, practically puts an end to the opposition to athletics as a factor in college life, and recognizes the fact that college intercollegiate contests will and ought to retain a permanent and important position in the college world.

Now that the Harvard authorities have at last given official recognition of the importance and permanency of college athletics, it is all the more important that these evils arising from intercollegiate leagues should be driven out of existence. The quickest and only thorough way of effecting this is for Harvard to withdraw from all intercollegiate leagues, and to confine her annual championship contests to Yale alone. There are many other reasons besides those given in this article why Harvard’s position in intercollegiate leagues acts as a drag upon her true interests; increased expenses both in training and traveling attendant upon so many championship contests; the longer time necessarily spent in preparation for matches not important in themselves, but which lost by accident would impair the chances of winning the championship; the element of chance in determining the winner of the intercollegiate track athletic games, ever increasing with the admission of so many smaller colleges which have no hope of ever securing first place. The only solution of the present athletic problem for Harvard is a withdrawal from the intercollegiate leagues. As the case now stands, in most branches of athletics the contest eventually narrows itself down to one final effort between Yale and Harvard. There is everything to gain and nothing to lose by the change. The idea is rapidly gaining ground at Cambridge: a free discussion of it in the college papers has only added new converts. Dissolution from all athletic leagues, practice games against the best teams in the country, and championship games with Yale alone, would cure many of the evils which seem to have attached themselves to Harvard athletics.

~Note.~--The illustrations of the different groups of athletic, football, baseball, lacrosse, and other teams in this series of articles on college athletics, are from photographs by Pach Brothers, of 841 Broadway.

THE FAUN DANCE.

In gladsome grouping The fauns come trooping, With frolic steps and fleet. The short crisp grasses, As each one passes, Rebound beneath his feet.

Now Pan goes trilling A measure thrilling With wild ecstatic mirth. The fauns leap after, With mad, sweet laughter, Their footsteps kiss the earth.

The revel hushes The shy brown thrushes; They silent sit and peer. With lithe limbs shining, With arms entwining, The fauns leap there, leap here.

The brown feet twinkle, While harebells tinkle In tune, with graceful nod. The sun-flecks racing, In antic chasing, Seem dancing on the sod.

Light zephyrs swaying The boughs, are playing A soft Æolian air. The owlet, rousing From daytime drowsing, Looks down with sleepy stare.

A cloud stoops o’er them; Behind, before them The pattering rain-drops fall. Then, helter-skelter, They fly for shelter Beneath the oak-tree tall.

_M. E. Gorham._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

MASK AND FOIL FOR LADIES.

BY CHARLES E. CLAY.

[Illustration]

Among the infant nations of the world woman was expected to share the labors of the field with her lord. The exotic conditions of a pernicious civilization, as wealth accumulated and luxury grew, imposed trammels on woman and relegated her to the enervating confinement of the house in order that she might preserve a more delicate and pleasing form for the gratification of man returning after the day’s toil. Woman was, however, originally intended to be a much more competent companion and helpmate than the selfishness of man will concede.

So long as a community remained pastoral and nomadic, so surely did woman retain a physical development equal and perfect as that of her mate. Thus, we find that Atalanta was as fleet of foot as any of her male companions, and not until she allowed her cupidity to get the better of her judgment, while striving to secure the golden apples dropped by Hippomenes during the race, was she vanquished. That woman was once as skillful as man in the practice and art of venery, was symbolized by the fact that men did not deem it unworthy to worship a virgin huntress, and called upon Diana to lend them her knowledge and support in the chase. That war even claimed their services is evidenced by Herodotus and other ancient historians; and although the prowess of the doughty Amazons, who, in order that they might not be impeded in the use of the bow, mutilated their right breasts, may be in a great measure mythical, still such testimony goes to prove conclusively that woman, while perhaps not endowed with the same brute strength as man, can be his peer in most games, pastimes and recreations that call for dexterity and quickness of hand, foot and eye.

No one can gainsay the fact that the long-continued seclusion of our fair sisters from sports and exercises has undoubtedly much deteriorated the physical stamina of the female race, at least in civilized countries. They are not capable of undergoing the fatigue, exertion and exposure nature intended they should; they are the victims of many ailments that have become hereditary to their sex simply from inaction. They are not (I am talking now of the upper and leisure classes of civilized society more especially) in as thoroughly a healthy physical condition to sustain the burdens of maternity and its consequent strain upon the system as they ought to be, as it was intended by nature that they should be, and as they undoubtedly would be, if healthy exercise was more universally prevalent among the sex. If any reader doubts this statement he has only to analyze the statistics of any European nation that bear upon this subject to be convinced.

Happily, the baneful results of an indoor life of inaction have been realized before its effects have become ineradicable, and the growing superiority of the physical development of the Anglo-Saxon over her Latin sister is due chiefly to the revival of athletic outdoor exercise among the women of this family. English girls may surely claim the lead in the good work of athletic regeneration. They are closely followed by their fair sisters and rivals on this side of the Atlantic, and both are head and shoulders ahead of the daughters of France, Germany, and the other Continental nations. I will not waste words in contrasting the physical condition of the women of the West with the deplorable state of the sex in the East. It would be an insult to Christianity.

[Illustration: EN GARDE.

FIRST POSITION. SECOND POSITION.]

I need hardly enumerate the rich catalogue of sports, games and recreations that claim the attention of our enlightened sisters of to-day, but this much I will say, that there is not an exercise that will repay a girl so well, and at the same time rouse her enthusiasm and enjoyment so thoroughly as the practice of fencing--and in that term I include the handling of foil, broadsword and single-stick. In considering the art of fencing in the present article I shall not attempt to give any instruction in the rudiments or the more finished evolutions of the science, because, in the first place, to treat only the principal thrusts and parries would occupy more space than I have at my command, and in the second, _fencing cannot be learned from the book_. One lesson from a competent _maitre d’armes_ will effect more than the perusal of a volume. I shall, however, endeavor to point out the beneficial results to be reaped from the exercise, to create a feeling, if possible, that fencing ought really to be an indispensable necessity of a young lady’s complete physical education, and to offer a few hints and suggestions as to the best means of learning and enjoying the art, as well as the proper dress and equipment to be employed.

Fencing, then, may be popularly defined as the art and science of attack and defense, the weapon used being the foil for pleasure, and the rapier in a duel of deadly intent. The attack consists of a number of thrusts, points and lunges, the latter being an extension of the thrust. The defense is the art of warding off an adversary’s thrusts by evolutions, termed guards or parries. It is also admissible to advance the whole body while dealing thrusts or to assist the execution of the guard by a timely retreat. The participation in this exercise by two persons is called a “bout,” or a “passage,” with the foils, and when one line of assailants faces another, fencing two and two, this general bout is distinguished as an assault of arms.

The exercise will give to the carriage and general poise of the body a grace, dignity and freedom, with majesty of step and mien to be attained in a like degree by no other means. Some finniking miss will, perhaps, venture that dancing and the idiotic steps of deportment taught by a mincing Frenchman is all the setting up that a young lady properly brought up should require; but there is just as much difference in the walk of a young lady who has been well drilled in a _salle d’armes_ and a dancing-school miss as there is between the walk of a lithe young panther and a cat stepping over hot bricks. In fencing, every part of the body is brought into play. The strain on the wrist, and the rapid movements with the foil work every muscle in the shoulder and forearm. The quick advance and hasty retreat develop the lower limbs. The tension of the whole body brings into healthy

## action the internal organs. The chest expands, the lungs are quickened

and produce a stronger circulation; the whole frame is invigorated, hardened, strengthened and braced up. Moreover, exercise with the foils does not abnormally develop one member, or one set of muscles to the detriment of others equally important. For, as Captain Nicholas, of the New York Fencers’ Club, very happily expressed it to me, “fencing rather places the muscles of the body in the very best position to perform their several functions to the best advantage.” That some pastimes, notably lawn tennis, will develop one member to an inordinate degree, if pursued to excess, is proved by the experience of many of the fashionable dressmakers, one of whom assured me not long ago, that since the general craze for tennis among her customers she has found it necessary to measure _both_ arms and shoulders of her most ardent tennis-playing _clientèle_, as she finds as much as three to four inches difference in the deltoid and biceps measurements of the playing arm. And many of my lady friends have assured me that since taking up tennis they have found it impossible to put on the right hand the mate of the glove that snugly fits their left. In fencing this cannot occur, for the lessons are always given equally with left and right hand holding the foil.

[Illustration: LOW QUARTE.]

To prove that this healthy exercise is one of the very best means that can be employed to efface the serious effects to the lungs and heart involved by a narrow contracted chest and stooping shoulders, let me instance the experience of one of the young Viennese lady fencers at present with Professor Hartl’s accomplished troupe, as Fraulein A. related it to me herself. “Oh, no; it is not at all for the money that I continue to remain with Professor Hartl, neither did I join his excellent school in Vienna with the idea of ever going before a public audience, but I first took up fencing on my doctor’s orders, and the wonderful results in the improvement of my health from this training made me loth to quit the exercise.” “You would hardly think,” said the fraulein, smiling archly at me as I surveyed her plump and comely figure, “that barely twelve months ago I was so puny and sickly a creature that I could not rise from my chair nor walk across the room without assistance. I stooped like a broken-down old woman, my chest was so hollow and bent inwards that it was pain for me to draw a breath, and I was troubled all the time with a dry, hacking cough that was as distressing to my dear mother as it was painful to me. I had been for months in the doctor’s hands and nothing bettered by his treatment, though he was one of the leading physicians in Vienna. At last he told my mother that if I did not mend shortly she would be childless (for I am her only child), and as a last resource he would recommend my being sent to Professor Hartl’s fencing school. My mother was astounded, and demurred; but I, like some drowning wretch catching at a straw, was bent on going, and carried the day. I was conveyed to his _salle d’armes_ in a carriage. The professor was very kind and prescribed a course of exercise as gentle and easily progressive as it was judicious. In three weeks I could walk, breathe and move my limbs as well as any of the other girls. Then my lessons with the foil commenced--very short and very feeble attempts they were at first, I can tell you, but I grew stronger and heartier every day. I became straight and strong, my chest became full, and my shoulders humped no longer. I had such an appetite, too, that my mother was appalled. Then the professor made arrangements to come to America. The doctor told me the sea voyage would be most beneficial. My mother reluctantly consented as I wanted much to see this great country. _Ainsi me voici, monsieur!_” Pretty conclusive evidence that, I take it, as regards the benefits of fencing to a weak constitution.

Let us now consider the subject of the most suitable costume to wear while taking a turn with the foils. In the first place let me say that, as a general thing, young ladies fashionably dressed in the prevailing styles are not properly attired even for a walk to do them any real good from an athletic point of view. The waist is too tightly laced. The bodice is worn too tight at shoulders and in the sleeves to give the freedom of play necessary for arms and shoulders, to walk beneficially. The dresses are “pulled back” to such a degree that they cramp the forward movement of hip and knee. The abominable shoes, with a tiny heel, with head no bigger than a dime, planted almost in the middle of the foot, tilt the body forward in such a manner that it becomes a miracle why ladies don’t pitch forward more often on their noses. Besides, this abnormal elevation of the heel throws the whole weight of the body on the ball and toe of the foot, causes a fearful strain on the instep and the extensor muscles of the leg, and throws all the posterior muscles of the calf and ankle out of use.

[Illustration: OCTAVE.]

Such being the case of affairs, my advice to a young lady commencing to fence would be: Discard all the impedimenta and addenda, especially the latter, with which you so successfully break “the continuity of beauty’s lines and curves” on the street. Don a skirt of flannel, velvet or tweed that is moderately heavy, _i. e._, heavy enough to stay down without being weighted at the bottom with leads. The skirt should be amply kilted or plaited to a good broad, strong band, which when fastened round the waist should act the part of a man’s gymnasium belt. The plaits, of course, should be made so that they open easily at the bottom to allow the easy and rapid advance of the leg. The length may be left to the good taste and judgment of the wearer, only don’t have it made so long that when extended at your full length in the lunge the skirt will trail round the heel of the rear foot, for if this is the case you may be apt to step on the skirt as you recover to the “en garde” position.

Another style of dress much in vogue, and especially approved by ladies of the theatrical profession, is the divided skirt. Any one who has seen pretty Rosina Vokes in this costume will readily recognize that when properly made and artistically managed it gives the greatest scope for perfect freedom of action with the acme of grace in movement. But the plain kilted skirt is the simpler and more natural garment, and I recommend it to young ladies who practice fencing as an amusement and occasionally cross foils with their brothers or their male friends.

It is absolutely necessary that the upper portion of the figure should be well supported, and for this purpose a short underwaist reaching barely to the waistband of the skirt should be worn. This should be made of some twilled or ribbed material and laced snugly down the back, but should not contain whalebone or steel of any kind. I believe they are known as corset-waists. The ordinary steel corsets extend too low over the hips and are apt to be inconvenient when lunging. A good, elastic, silk jersey is the very best thing for a waist. But let it give ample room under the arms and across the chest. Many girls wear a simple blouse or sailor jacket, and they are very serviceable; but the jersey is preferable, inasmuch as it clings closely to the arm and the foil is not so likely to get caught in the sleeve as is apt to happen with a sailor-jacket sleeve. Let the throat be bare and wear no collar. Nothing, in fact, that will come above the neck of the plastron, or chest shield. Be shod with tennis shoes; they are better than high boots, because they allow more play to the ankle. If leather soles are worn it will be well to rub them liberally with some preparation that will prevent the foot slipping.

The accoutrements necessary are a plastron, or chest shield, mask, gauntlets, and a foil. The plastron is generally of finely dressed leather, quilted chamois leather, padded canvas or buckram. All these equally serve their purpose, which is to protect the chest when sharply struck with the button of the foil. They are made of various thicknesses and weights. Those thickly quilted and cotton stuffed, of course, insure perfect immunity from the blow, but they are ungainly, heavy-looking coverings, and for ordinary practice, I think a stout canvas or leather plastron will be found to be all that is required. They slip over the shoulders on which the straps rest, are cut out under the armpits, and are buckled at the back or side; if at the side, better on the left. They should fit closely round the neck and lie perfectly flat upon the chest.

[Illustration: PRIME.]

In choosing the gauntlets care should be taken to have the fingers, and especially the thumbs, thoroughly well padded. They should be perforated in the palm, and the wrist shield should be stiff and extend half-way up to the elbow. The mask must fit easily and comfortably well over the head and completely under the chin, protecting as much as possible the throat as well. The foil should be of best tempered steel and, for young girls particularly, as light as possible. The French make the best fencing paraphernalia, and if a young lady wants to get a thoroughly serviceable equipment, my advice would be to take counsel with some experienced male fencing friend on the selection, or perhaps better, to go to one of the leading _maitres d’armes_ and trust him to get the complete outfit. One caution, and a most serious one I will emphasize, which every fencer, young or old, expert or tyro, should always bear in mind, and that is, _never use a foil until you have thoroughly satisfied yourself that the button is firmly on the point_, and that it is well covered. Negligence in this important particular may risk life. I vividly recall an instance that occurred in the class of Professor Angelo, of London, of which I was a member at the time. We were awaiting the advent of our teacher, being, as boys are very apt to be, a little before the appointed hour. Two of my classmates, donning masks and gauntlets but no plastrons, took their foils and were soon engaged in a furious bout, all the more earnest because of the keen rivalry that existed between them. Both were fairly expert fencers, and thrust and lunge and parry and feint succeeded with lightning rapidity. Suddenly young C---- received his adversary’s foil full on the chest, and with a sharp cry of anguish staggered backward, dropping his foil and falling heavily into a chair: a ghastly pallor overspread his face and a small red stream of blood trickled slowly from his parted lips. We hurried to him and hastily divested him of waistcoat and shirt, which we found stained with blood. We laid bare the chest and found a nasty livid-looking puncture just above the nipple of the left breast. The poor boy never spoke again, and before we could summon medical aid he expired. The cause of this tragedy was found to be that his opponent’s foil had lost its button; whether it was off before they engaged or was knocked off during the bout could not be ascertained, but the moral is easy to point. Never skylark with foils, broadswords or single-sticks, unless you are thoroughly dressed and prepared for the bout.

The proper method of holding the foil, as well as the correct position to assume, I quote from Mr. Van Schaick’s excellent article on fencing which appeared in ~Outing~ for October, 1887:

The body must be placed so as to present a profile to the adversary. The right foot forward, the right arm half bent, with the elbow at the distance of about ten inches from the body, the left foot some twenty inches behind the right and at right angles to it. The knees bent, the body erect and well poised on the hips, but a trifle more on the left than on the right, so as not to interfere with the right leg when “lunging.” The general position must be such that the shoulders, the arms and the right leg will have the same direction towards the adversary; the purpose is to cover the vital parts and facilitate the lunge. The right arm, half bent, the wrist at the height of the breast, and the point of the foil at that of the eye. The left hand must be at the height of the head, the fingers well rounded, the thumb free. The head erect, looking in the direction of the right shoulder. The eyes fixed frankly on those of the adversary. The whole posture must be free and easy.

Advance takes place when the contestants are too far apart; retreat when too near. In order to advance, carry the right foot forward without in any way disturbing the position of the body or that of the sword, and bring immediately the left foot within its proper distance of the right (twenty inches). In order to retreat, carry the left foot backwards without in any way disturbing the position of the body or that of the sword, and bring immediately the right foot within its proper distance of the left.

The foil must be held so that the hand will take the direction of the forearm, and the point of the blade will be at the height of the eye. Hold the foil very firmly only when thrusting or parrying; if you grasp it tightly during a bout of any length, the muscles of your hand will become cramped and will prevent your handling the foil with the necessary delicacy.

The hand can assume three different positions when thrusting or parrying.

(1.) In _quarte_, where the palm is uppermost.

(2.) In _tierce_, where the knuckles are uppermost.

(3.) And in _six_, where the thumb is uppermost and the fingers are on the left; this last position is also called _middling_.

And to this article I refer all my young lady readers and fencers, but recommend you, as he himself would, to go to a master first and study his instructions as an aid to your maitre’s practical teaching.

There are a number of excellent teachers of fencing in New York. Among the best will be found Captain Nicholas, of the New York Fencers’ Club; Mons. Regis Senac, of the New York Athletic Club; Mons. Tronchet, of the Manhattan A. C., and Mons. Louis Rondell, of the Knickerbocker Fencing Club. The last two named gentlemen are graduates of the celebrated French Military Academy, at Joinville-les-Ponts, France, the highest authority on this subject in the world.

A last point I will make ere I close. Learn fencing, if for no other reason, at least as an additional means of protection and self-defense in case of a sudden emergency.

Although you, my fair sisters, may not be called upon to defend yourselves against the murderous attacks of drunken or lawless ruffians, yet instances are on record where women have been compelled literally to fight for the lives of themselves and their children. With the knowledge and practical experience gained in the _salle d’armes_, or the friendly bouts with foil and single-stick that helped to while away a winter afternoon, they have been able to hold their own, nay, even to come off victorious in a contest in which the stakes were life against life. I remember an instance of such a nature which, when told round the jovial mess-table, with clinking glasses and flashing lights and bursts of jocund laughter, hushed every tongue and caused the breath to come with panting gasps from breasts suffocating with feelings of hatred and vengeance.

A gay young subaltern returning to India after his first leave of absence, brought with him a tall, fair flower of English girlhood, gathered from a quiet vicarage away in Devonshire. Passing her life in the free enjoyment of the glorious English air, taking long rambles o’er fen and field and wold with her father, or joining in the more hardy sports by flood and field when her brothers were home for the holidays, she had built up a constitution that defied the weather and had acquired a freedom of action, a superb grace of deportment that would have been the envy of the sylvan Diana. She was a perfect horsewoman, a capital shot with gun and pistol, and could give points to most of her brothers at pool or billiards. Mrs. K---- had been well drilled in fencing and single-stick practice, and was passionately fond of the pastime; often after the early morning parade the young husband would invite some one or other of his brother officers to their cool bungalow veranda, where many a lusty bout was fought by the ardent young swordswoman, while the happy husband laughed merrily at the discomfiture of his warrior brothers.

But this pleasant scene was soon to change. Rumors of the deadly mutiny raging in Bengal were brought to the out-of-the-way cantonment. The swarthy Punjaubees, who a month or two before had paraded so quietly and calmly, and were so alert to obey orders, came now to drill or stables with dogged step and sullen brow.

It was an anxious time for every one. The officers were keenly alive to the volcano on which they trod, yet dared not show any semblance of fear or mistrust. All ammunition was carefully removed to the mess-house, and the sabres and lances of the men (for Lieutenant K----‘s was a cavalry regiment) were only issued for parade, when every officer carried loaded revolvers and a goodly stock of cartridges. At last, one morning, the regiment was paraded to attend the funeral of a young officer who had sickened and died. The men had already drilled that morning, and as they mustered for the funeral, ominous signs of disorder and disaffection were rife. With heavy and anxious hearts the little knot of officers gathered to perform the last sad rites to their dead comrade. But they were destined never to complete their mournful task. Just as the adjutant had formed the parade and the officers were awaiting the coming of the colonel, at a given signal, preconcerted doubtless, the entire regiment broke ranks and stampeded helter-skelter over the parade-ground.

The majority of the mutineers hurried to their huts, and gathering together all their chattels decamped as soon as possible to join the headquarters of insurgent sepoys. But a band of more desperate characters, longing to steep their hands in English blood, and eager to join their revolted brethren with the prestige born of some glaring deed of butchery, hastened to the colonel’s residence, where the only two ladies of the regiment were known to be. Most of the officers were at the bungalow of their deceased comrade, which was situated on the opposite side of the parade-ground. The adjutant and the officers on parade retreated, immediately on the outbreak, to the mess-house, which had been prepared for defense in anticipation of just such an occurrence. The colonel, coming from the orderly room, took in the status of affairs and hastened to join the mess-house defenders.

In the meanwhile the ladies had been watching the forming of the parade from the colonel’s private smoking den, where there was littered in truly masculine chaos the thousand and one articles with which a keen sportsman and soldier loves to surround himself--a well selected battery of rifles and shotguns, half a dozen pig spears, a varied and choice assortment of hunting-knives, powder-flasks, bullet moulds, rods and whips, and crops of all descriptions were everywhere. Hanging in a little more order and by themselves were the colonel’s military accoutrements, a couple of cavalry sabres, a pair of pistols, an old sabretache, and an extra set of bits and bridles. The ladies gazing out from this sportsman’s snuggery saw with a thrill of horror the stampede, witnessed the hurried retreat of the officers to the mess-bungalow, and before their dazed senses realized the awful catastrophe saw some half-dozen yelling sowars making for the house in which they were. The colonel’s wife, perceiving the peril with which they were threatened, uttered one piercing shriek and fell fainting on the floor. But young Mrs. K. was made of sterner stuff. She, too, saw the danger, but it stirred her to action: Self-reliant and heroic by nature, she rose grandly to the occasion. No help was to be expected from the servants. Peons, kitmutgar, syces and chokras all had fled. But not a moment was to be lost. As she dashed frantically to the entrance, and as she closed and bolted the teak doors, she heard menaces that chilled the very marrow in her bones. She flew to every window and barred the blinds--poor weak defenses at best!--yet the breaking of them would gain a moment’s respite for her to prepare for the attack. She then retreated to the room in which the colonel’s wife still lay as she had fallen. There was no time to care for her. Mrs. K. took down the heavy cavalry pistols and ascertained with delight that they were loaded. She next drew the heavy barrack-table in front of her fallen friend and facing the door. Placing the pistols at hand on the table, she took down from a peg on the wall the mask with head protector used for broadsword exercise, and as she adjusted the cumbrous thing over her bonny waves of golden hair, she thought sadly of the pleasant bouts she had had with the bluff old gentleman whose property it was, and how the gallant soldier would puff and blow in his attempts to make good his cranium against the blows which she rained with lightning rapidity on each exposed point.

Heavy blows on door and windows cut short her meditations, and selecting the lighter of the two sabres (made more to wear at dress parades or levées than actual warfare) the brave girl took up her position behind the table. The fiends did not keep her waiting long. The stout old veranda chairs, hurled with the force of battering rams by the strong arms of the now thoroughly infuriated natives, soon wrenched the door from its hinges, and with a thundering crash it fell inwards, creating havoc with the dainty little tables, with their delicate bric-a-brac. She heard the exulting shout of the troopers and the tramp of their heavy boots as they scoured the house in search of their intended victims. With dauntless mien and white lips the young wife grasped the pistol, and with one short muttered prayer for him she loved, awaited the supreme moment. A rush--a heavy thud as of bodies hurled against the door--a smashing of wood, and four burly sowars tumbled headlong into the room. As the first sepoy with a horrid oath picked himself hastily up, Mrs. K.’s pistol was discharged within a dozen feet of the would-be murderer’s breast, and with a choking sob the ruffian fell backwards. Instantly catching up the second weapon she fired at the advancing trio. Another howl of anguish told that the true ball found fatal lodgment. She seized her sabre as the table was overturned, and found herself hotly assailed by the two surviving troopers. Skillfully she parried the savage onslaught. With the rage of baffled demons they plied her with a perfect hailstorm of blows regardless of method or science. Some she eluded by her activity, some she caught on the frail blade she wielded, and she felt that some had wounded her on arm and side. She grew faint and dizzy--a black mist spread before her darkening eyes. She staggered--reeled--and fell upon the still unconscious form of Mrs. P. A hoarse shout from behind arrested the murderers. They turned one moment. It was their last. A couple of pistol-shots rang out, and the assassins fell dead on the bodies of their antagonist.

The rescue is easily explained. When the officers perceived the attack was meant for the colonel’s house, and that the mess-house was comparatively safe, the colonel, adjutant, and a couple of others rushed after the attacking mutineers, and arrived in time to turn the tables on the dastardly cowards. The whole affray, assault, defense, and vengeance, was enacted in less moments than it takes to read the account. Mrs. K. recovered after long months of illness, and is now living among the scenes of her childhood.

[Illustration]

SPORT--PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.

BY ALEXANDER HUNTER.

## PART II.

For four years the game in Virginia, all undisturbed, increased and multiplied at an astonishing rate. There was no shot to be had in the Confederacy, and the only way an ardent sportsman, when home on furlough, could take a shy at the game, was to hammer out from a leaden bullet long, square blocks, and then cutting off the ends with a knife, to use a brick to roll these bits on the floor until each pellet became round enough for use. It would take a man a day, and exhaust all his patience, to make one pound of shot; and he would naturally be very chary about using his ammunition, and rarely pull a trigger except when certain of his game. In most sections of Virginia to fire a gun was a dangerous pastime, for what with raids, irruptions, incursions and forays, the people were in a state of siege, and the report of a firearm was as likely as not to be followed by a bullet from some traveling soldier, prowling bushwhacker, or passing cavalryman, thrown just for good luck in the direction of the sound. Then, if it should happen that a raid was in progress, the shot would attract the videttes and scouts, and the luckless gunner would find himself in hostile hands; and if too old or too young for military service, he might consider himself lucky if he were allowed to depart minus his fowling-piece and dog.

In the mountains of Virginia the wild turkeys were more numerous than they ever were before, the various bivouacs furnishing them in winter with an ample supply of food, while, best of all, they were allowed to feed unmolested. The water-fowl on the Potomac kept up their ratio of increase, for except the officers of the gunboats patrolling up and down the river, none dared to fire a gun. There were hunters of men in those times scattered along the banks, as well as floating on the bosom of the blue water. The explosion of a sportsman’s gun, and its smoke, might serve as an admirable target for the boatswain of an iron-clad with a crew nearly dead with listlessness and _ennui_, and glad to get an excuse to blaze away at anything.

In the fall of 1865, those Virginians who loved sporting, and had the good luck to return to the homes of their youth with their arms and legs intact, had a rare and royal time among the fur and feather, and a moderate shot would return in the evening and show such a bag as the result of the day’s sport as would last the family for a week. A couple of sportsmen living about ten miles from Culpeper Court House, Virginia, killed, in one day, eighty-four rabbits and fourteen wild turkeys. If a gunner can start even half a dozen cotton-tails now in a long day’s tramp he considers himself fortunate, and he won’t see a wild turkey in a season’s shooting. I well remember a hunt that I had in the autumn of 1865, just after the war ended. It was a perfect day in November, with the morning mists still hanging around the tree-tops. I had borrowed a double-barrel from one friend, and a good, staunch pointer named “Josh” from another. I climbed the fence of an orchard, and put the dog out in a huge field near Warrenton Junction, where portions of both armies had often encamped. Josh had not gone seventy-five yards before he came to a dead stand, and with beating heart I advanced and hied him on. As the birds rose I let fly both barrels, and--did not touch a feather! Loading up, I again sent Josh careering over the stubble. In ten minutes he had pointed a covey, and I again emptied the gun with the same result as before. If ever a dog’s face expressed contempt Josh’s was surely the one. His dewlaps curled up, and he absolutely showed his teeth, whether in anger or derision I never found out. The third time I approached a covey that Josh had cornered in a big patch of briers, and two more loads were sent harmless as Macbeth’s sword “cutting the intrenchant air.” This was enough for that disgusted dog. He sneaked off, and I never laid my eyes upon him again.

It was no great matter, the birds were so plentiful that I had merely to walk up and down the field, and I banged away most lustily. All in vain! I could not touch one. I fired with both eyes open, then with one shut, and still no partridge lingered on that account. I became superstitious and fired with both eyes shut. I doubled the charges, until I swept that meadow with leaden pellets, as a field is cleared by grape-shot. But there were no dead. At last, in my despair, I would shoot even if the bird was half a mile off. I went home that evening, after shooting away about ten pounds of shot, with one solitary partridge in my game-bag, and this bird, when I flushed him suddenly, was so scared that he flew from the edge of the field across a fence and against the trunk of a black-jack tree with such force as to knock himself silly, and before he could hustle himself away I had jumped the fence and wrung his neck.

[Illustration: SHOOTING OVER DECOYS.]

There was apparently enough fur and feather in Virginia just after the war to supply the whole of America with small game, but in one decade the state of the case was completely altered. First came the invention of the breech-loader, which enables one to shoot all day without intermission. The game stood but little chance against these machines of perpetual destruction. But worse even than the breech-loader was the old army musket, loaded with a handful of shot, with a lately enfranchised freedman behind the big end of it. The darkey is a nocturnal prowler, as much so as a ’coon or ’possum, and his prowls through meadow, woods and fallow cause him frequently to stumble on the wary turkey that forgets his cunning as he struts around preparatory to flying to his roost, generally a dead limb on a lofty tree. He bags many a molly cotton-tail loping down the road to get his evening drink at the branch. But it is when “our friend and brother” catches sight, in the shades of the evening, of a flock of partridges settling in some field for their night’s rest, that he becomes dangerous. It is then that the old army musket is converted into a terror, and when its muzzle bears upon the whole covey squatted in a space that can be covered by a bandana handkerchief, and its contents are turned loose, every bird will be either killed or crippled.

[Illustration: RED-HEAD DUCKS AT HOME.]

The freedman’s musket, battered and patched though it be, must look down upon the handsome, resplendent breechloader as a great orator does upon the garrulous, loquacious youth who talks upon every subject at any time, and at any length, while he only opens his mouth to make knock-down arguments, or to utter words of great import that thrill and convince. When the reverberating roar of that old A. M. was heard, it was safe to bet that something that did not come from the barnyard would fill the shooter’s iron pot that night.

A weather-beaten old darkey said to me once: “It dun cos’ me nearly five cents to load that air musket, countin’ powder, caps, shot and everythin’, an’ I ain’t gwine to let er off ’less I knows I’se sartin to make by de shot.”

The baybird-shooting in the summer, and the duck-shooting outside the Virginia capes, was at its zenith some fifteen years ago. Then, too, the canvas-back, that king of water-fowl, before whose name the gourmand bows in homage, still lingered in the tributaries of the Chesapeake Bay, but now it is nearly extinct. A sportsman may gun for a whole winter in the bay and not kill half a dozen “canvas-backs,” but, if a good shot over the decoys, he can count on the kind known as the “red-head”--and if he knew how to pull out a few feathers, as does the professional pot-hunter, he could easily follow that gentleman’s example and sell them at fancy figures for “canvas-backs,” which in another decade will be as utterly annihilated as the dodo. Still, great is the culinary _chef’s_ art, and if he can, by the magic power of his sauces, herbs and seasonings, pass calf’s head off for green turtle, and the skillpot for diamond-back terrapin stew, then nobody is hurt. His patrons enjoy it just the same, and to the average man the red-head duck tastes as well with his champagne as its incomparable relative.

[Illustration: POTOMAC SHOOTING--OLD STYLE.]

[Illustration: ROBIN-SNIPE.]

Fifteen years ago--even ten years--many an amateur would pack his trunk with ammunition, and taking steamer for Old Point Comfort, disembark there, and after a few hours’ wait at the Hygeia Hotel, proceed on his way to the eastern shore of Virginia by crossing the Chesapeake Bay. Or he would go outside the capes, and stop at Cape Charles, or Cobb’s Island. Once at his objective point, he could be certain in the right season of having his fill of shooting every day at the baybirds. They were so plentiful that all along the Virginia Broadwater every oyster-bar or mud-flat would be covered with them, and all the shooter would have to do would be to make a blind out of sea-grass, place his decoys around him, and then try his hand on singles, doubles and flocks, striking them on the turn, while a hundred pair of yellow-legs, or willet, would not be considered anything out of the way. As it is now--well, the finest shot in the country could not kill that many snipe in a week, simply because they are not there to kill. The vast flocks of robin-snipe that tarried in their migrations along the shores of the Chesapeake and the Broadwater of the Atlantic coast have entirely disappeared. The curlew still haunt their favorite places, but have become so wary that neither blind nor decoys can lure them, except, indeed, at the earliest dawn of day, before their eyes are wide open. Half a dozen curlew, between sunrise and sunset, in the blinds, is something for a sportsman to be proud of, for no crow is keener-eyed, more suspicious, and keeps a sharper lookout than these birds. Fifteen years ago I have often killed from thirty to fifty from sun to sun, at Smith Island or Cape Charles, but now one has to load his shell with No. 3 shot to bring down the high-circling, distrustful curlew.

The willet is still fairly plentiful. They lay their eggs and rear their young in the neighboring sea-meadows, and though preyed upon by crabs, snakes and raccoons from the time the egg is laid until the bird is able to fly, they still hold their own. They are such sociable birds that whenever a flock of snipe is fired into, one of the dead is almost certain to be a willet.

The ox-eye, another variety of the snipe family, is found in abundance on the shores and sea-meadows, and they owe their preservation, like the sandpipers, to their insignificant size. There are no birds in existence that keep so close together when on the wing as these ox-eyes. A large flock resembles a solid mass, and dire is the destruction that a double-barrel makes as it pours forth its contents of No. 8 shot at point-blank distance and strikes them on the turn. I asked old Nathan Cobb, of Cobb’s Island, which is outside the Virginia capes--a pot-hunter of half a century’s experience, who has grown independent from the proceeds of his gun--what was the greatest number of snipe he had ever killed by one discharge of his double-barrel.

[Illustration: POTOMAC SHOOTING--NEW STYLE.]

“Wal,” said Nathan, with his Eastern Shore drawl, “I was out gunning one spring, about thirty years ago, and had a No. 8 muzzle-loader that would hold comfortably six ounces of shot. I ran in on a solid acre of robin-snipe on the beach, and fired one load raking them as they fed, giving them the other barrel as they rose. I picked up three hundred and two.”

I next asked him the greatest number of brant he had ever killed in one day over the decoys, with single shots.

“I bagged,” he answered, “about ten years ago, one hundred and seventy brant, and nearly every one of them was a single shot.”

I can easily believe this, for I have shot in blinds with many sportsmen, at redhead, shufflers, black duck and brant, and I never yet saw amateur, professional, or pot-hunter, whose aim was so unerring and deadly at the flying ducks as Nathan Cobb’s. I do not believe this score has ever been beaten in this country.

At the present day this same story of the disappearance of the waterfowl on the Virginia coast and along the Capes becomes dreary from repetition. It does not pay the sportsman to go to Cobb’s Island now. I spent three seasons there in the winter, during the “Eighties,” and found that the brant were so wild that they would not stool. Then I went to Cape Charles, just outside the Capes, and, though it is a most inaccessible place, the brant would not come near the decoys.

Two winters ago, I tried Currituck Sound, and found palatial club-houses open all about that noble sheet of water. Some of these houses are so splendid in appointment that when you glance around the elegantly furnished rooms, with their damask curtains, Brussels carpets and open grates where the anthracite is piled high, it is impossible to imagine that just outside roll the dark waters of the Sound, while miles upon miles of barren sea-meadows, marshes and swamp separate the house from civilization. All of these club-houses are owned by Northern men--rich in world’s gear, of course--men who count their incomes by thousands, where ordinary bread-winners of the professions count their earnings by tens. Think of having in the magazine of a club-house thirty thousand dollars in guns! Gordon Cumming, starting for a ten years’ game hunt in the jungles of Africa, or Stanley, setting out to fight his way through the “Dark Continent,” with countless hordes of savage “Wawangi” disputing his passage, never had that amount invested in weapons--and all to kill the wary geese and swift-flying ducks.

Even with such perfection of outfit--with guns of every imaginable make from the 12 to the 4 bore, and trained gunners to oversee every arrangement, the clubmen were talking gloomily about the sport fast deteriorating. Pot-hunters, “duck pirates,” countrymen, freedmen--all who lived or robbed along the shores of the Sound had their shy at the ducks, day in and night out, and such a fusillade was never heard since Burnside stormed and carried Roanoke Island, some miles below, in the glinting spring days of 1862. I found good enough sport on the private point of a friend who lived on a large farm by the shores of the Sound. Still the birds were thinning rapidly.

Last winter’s experience with Currituck made me determine never to go to that spot again for sport. I do not think I overstate matters when I say that wildfowl-shooting on the finest grounds in the world is doomed. Gone are the vast flocks, decimated are the swans and geese that were so plentiful in certain localities even three short years ago, and indigo blue are the rich sportsmen who quaff their champagne in silence and puff moodily at their twenty-five cent cigars as they think of the meagre bags they have made, and how matters, now so bad, are always getting worse, thereby proving the old saw which saith “Nothing can be so bad that it cannot be made worse.” The club men should, however, be glad that the snipe will always be with them.

For keen trading, guileless equivocation and general deviltry commend me to the “cracker” of the North Carolina Coast. He could discount the Jersey Yankee upstairs and down-stairs. The typical specimen is slab-sided and always thin; I never met a fat one yet. Their complexion shows that they have wrestled for years with “chills,” and their cheeks are as yellow as a newly-pulled gourd; they drawl in their speech, look at you with half-shut eyes, are afraid of neither man nor devil, have no hero-worship in their composition, and are as familiar with the captain of a yacht as with the roustabout. They are as keen as a brier, despite their listless, indifferent air, and to them more than any other cause is due the extermination of the wild fowl in Currituck Sound. They cleaned out the wild geese by setting steel traps on the bars. What they did not catch they frightened away.

Mr. William Palmer, the superintendent of the Palmer Island Club, states, moreover, that the number of sportsmen who come to Currituck to shoot has increased twenty-five per cent., while the natives have crowded the Sound with their blinds, and every male “cracker” who can hold a gun straight is on the watch.

It is true that there are stringent State Laws against the illegal killing of wild fowl, and also a close season. If these rules were enforced there would be first-class shooting in Currituck Sound for years to come, but the laws seem to be completely ignored; there is not even a pretense of observing them. The law makes a strong provision against a gun being fired at a duck after sunset, but there are numbers of murderous, greedy natives who have their skiffs hid in the woods and swamps in which are the huge ducking guns already referred to. Every hour during the night can be heard the sullen boom of these swivels floating across the waters, and the true sportsman, as he listens to the echoing roar, can only grind his teeth with rage, for he knows what a slaughter is going on, and how the survivors will take wing and abandon the Sound for good and all.

But the worst remains to be told. As if steel traps and big guns were not enough to destroy the wild fowl, the ingenious natives make fires on the banks of the creeks that run through the marshes, and, as the ducks float in ricks up to the illuminated waters, the ambushed assassin gets in his deadly work. Unless the sportsmen who own the club-houses on the Sound, by concerted action and vast outlay, can prosecute the offenders, then “Othello’s occupation’s gone.”

My own idea is that these clubs are too exclusive. They should make it a point to cultivate the _entente cordiale_ with the sportsmen of the State of North Carolina, and thus, by gaining their co-operation, they could induce the State authorities to take stringent action against the law-breakers. Unless this is done the sporting code will remain a dead letter as far as Currituck is concerned. The people shrug their shoulders when the subject is mentioned and say, “Those fancy Northern sportsmen don’t want a North Carolinian to kill a North Carolina duck in North Carolina waters,” and so on, and so on. Had I the arranging and the forming of a game protective association of the club men in Currituck, I would extend a pressing and standing invitation to every member of the Legislature and every officer of the State Government to make the club-houses their own, and the Governor and his staff should be kidnapped every winter, and be made to enjoy the gilt-edge sport of the “Yankee” clubs.

Seeing in a State paper that the Light-house Board intended to abandon the Pamlico (N. C.) Light-house, I applied to the Treasury Department to turn it over to me for a “shooting box.” This was done, and I hope to have some good sporting in the future.

Southward the sportsmen must make their way, and find more inaccessible spots than Currituck to establish club-houses. This being the case, the topography and charts of the regions lying south of Currituck become interesting to the handlers of the gun. Four miles across the mainland is that grand sheet of water, the Albemarle Sound, some fifteen miles wide. Though this sound cannot compare with Currituck for the number and variety of its waterfowl in past years, at the present time it is filled with the birds that have been driven by night-shooting away from Currituck to find safer quarters there. Undoubtedly there will, in the next few years, be erected many club-houses in Albemarle Sound. Some twelve miles as the crow flies across the peninsula, another sheet of water is encountered. This is the Crotan Sound, apparently of about the area of Currituck. There is an abundance of waterfowl here, and but few, if any, club-houses, which will, however, soon follow.

Ten miles southward, across a swampy, barren pine country, there appears the largest and grandest sound of all, the Pamlico. I have no data to furnish the exact size, but the steamer travels over 100 miles before it arrives at Pamlico Point light, at the spot where the Pamlico River enters the Sound. Here is the home and haunt of the swan, and, as they have been but comparatively little hunted, they furnish fine sport to those who have their own yachts and plenty of time. There are no spots at Currituck that can afford more exciting sport or show a greater abundance of all kinds of waterfowl than Pamlico Point, Porpoise Point, about five miles distant, or Brant Island, some twelve miles away. The inaccessibility of the place prevents the shore pot-hunters from disturbing the game, and the “duck murderer,” with his night-shooting, has not yet put in an appearance.

The water of Pamlico Sound is neutral to the taste; sometimes fresh, again decidedly saline, but, for most of the time, it is simply brackish. This condition arises from the fact that the Neuse and Pamlico Rivers pour fresh waters into its area, while New Hatteras and Oregon inlets and Core Sound admit the salt waters of the ocean. This mixture of fresh, brackish and salt waters in a common receptacle naturally attracts every variety of waterfowl. The red-head and shuffler haunt the mingling of the fresh-water rivers with the Sound waters, while the black duck, mallard, and that king of aquatic birds, the gamest of all--the brant, stay in the vicinity of Oregon Inlet. In my opinion, within a few years Pamlico Sound is destined to be the greatest sporting-ground in the country, and the costly and expensive club-houses at Currituck will be discounted by the new ones at Pamlico Sound.

How long it will be before the breech-loader in the hands of the natives and the swivel gun, killing in the night, will drive the wild fowl out of that extensive region is a question that none can answer. Many sportsmen who have been forced southward and still southward during the past years in quest of game hope that Pamlico Sound will furnish winter sport to last them at least the balance of their days.

[Illustration]

MR. PERKER’S BEAR; OR, MR. BEAR’S PERKER?

BY PRESIDENT BATES.

Since his marriage with Effie Cameron, Mr. Perker has greatly improved in many respects. In his attire, his wheel, and his general style, Mr. Perker still retains his proud pre-eminence as the pink of fashion of the club. Taken all in all, he is the nattiest wheelman that ever sat on a saddle. But now it is a chastened and refined glory. The little “loudness,” indicative of an ambition soaring after effects not quite attainable, which formerly marred Mr. Perker’s brilliancy at times, has given place to a subdued chasteness, suggesting that he could be still more elegant if a rival should appear. Plainly he exhibits evidences of being toned by feminine taste.

Mr. Perker still clings fondly to his bicycle gun, but nowadays he keeps it in the barn. Mrs. Effie will not permit it to be brought into the house. I mention this for the tranquilization of visiting wheelmen, so that they need not hesitate to accept an invitation to one of the elegant lunches with which Mrs. Effie is wont to regale the club and its guests on occasions. And pilgrim wheelmen, who have read ~Outing~ in former years, do not need to be assured that Mrs. Effie Perker is an altogether charming hostess, and one of the prettiest and most warm-hearted Scotchwomen that ever made a home happy.

Former readers of ~Outing~ also know that Mr. Perker’s remarkable dog, Smart, gave promise in his puppyhood of becoming one of the most intelligent animals in the country. In fact, he achieved wide notoriety in his early career. He is now famous for sagacity and accumulated wisdom. As a bicycle hunting dog he is not only peerless, but the founder of a new race--bicycle hunting dogs--a species of dog not hitherto known; and several clubs have obtained specimens of his progeny.

When Mr. Perker was required by the firm to whose interests he devotes his talents to visit a settlement upon the northern coast of Lake Michigan, upon business that would occupy him for two or three weeks, he determined to take with him his dog, his bicycle gun and his wheel. Mrs. Perker protested mildly; but yielded sweetly upon hearing Mr. Perker’s solemn promise not to hunt wildcats. For a woman whose girlhood was spent in the frontier wilds of Canada, Mrs. Perker entertains a singular apprehension of wildcats--all on Mr. Perker’s account. Of course, he is a hero in her wifely estimation; but she does not consider him a wildcat hero. And she has very little faith in Mr. Perker’s bicycle gun, or in the tried courage and sagacity of Mr. Perker’s dog Smart, as against wildcats. She mingled with the packing of Mr. Perker’s clean linen a loving remonstrance against hunting wildcats; and she mixed with Mr. Perker’s toothbrush and razor a tender warning against being led by “that fool, Smart,” into danger. Mr. Perker solemnly promised, with his parting kiss, to take good care of himself. And he meant it.

When Mr. Perker left the city, in Southern Michigan, the spring was well advanced. The roads had dried and were ridable, while the trees were beginning to show yellow-green buds. When, however, he arrived in the Northern woods, the snow still lingered in patches in the dim shades of the pine and hemlock forests, and ice clung to the shores of the lake. The rivers and brooks had cleared themselves, but were still in spring flood. The sharp frosts at night were followed by warm, sunny days, and occasionally by a day that remained cold enough not to melt the surface frost. There was no chance to ride except along the lake shore, where the sloping sands had frozen smoothly and were firm when their surface was unmelted. At various distances from the shore, generally ten to thirty rods, ice-banks, in some places twenty feet high, had formed in the shoal water, from great fields of drifting ice being driven upon the coast by the winter gales, and breaking and piling up their shore edges. Between the ice-banks and the shore sands the ice was reasonably flat, with a top surface of roughly frozen snow. Wherever a swollen river discharged into the lake, its freshet had cut an open channel through the flat ice and through the ice-banks, though the ice-banks still furnished bridges by which to cross the channels of the smaller streams.

At that season of the year there was little hunting, for most game was protected by the game-laws. To be sure the open spaces of water were visited by flocks of wild fowl flying northward, and there were rabbits in the woods, and of them Mr. Perker bagged a few. But, as of old, his hunter’s soul longed for larger game, and only his solemn promise to Effie prevented his joining the settlers in their wildcat hunting. There were wolves in the woods--large gray wolves. But it requires good hunting to get sight of one of these wary prowlers; and Mr. Perker had not the time to take long tramps into the swamps where they kept their lairs. The bears had also come out from their winter sleep, and almost every day Mr. Perker heard of their slaughter. But bears require skilled hunting, unless one happens upon a specimen by accident. If there was any one thing more than another that Mr. Perker longed for it was a bear. He ached for the glory of killing a bear. A bearskin, captured by his own hand, would elevate him several degrees in the estimation of the club and would greatly enhance the reputation of his bicycle gun. But the days of his sojourn in the wilderness were waning fast, and an encounter with a real live bear still remained the thing “he long had sought and mourned because he found it not,” as the hymn-book feelingly remarks. What made his disappointment more bitter was the fact that everybody in the settlement freely conceded that Smart undoubtedly possessed all the faculties and qualities of a good bear dog, except that of finding a bear. Smart, with his master, had made the acquaintance of every dead bear brought into the settlement, but the live bears perversely avoided his distinguished society.

Bears have provokingly peculiar ways. When you arm yourself with rifle, axe, knife and dog, and go hunting expressly for bear society, every bear in the woods hangs out a sign, “not at home,” and declines to be interviewed. When you particularly prefer not to be disturbed in your solitude, as your gun is at home, and you forgot to bring either axe or knife, and your dog is a mile off, rushing around after fugacious rabbits, then is the time that the largest and savagest, and most impudent of all bears is most apt to thrust himself upon your attention, with alarming indications of begging for a chew.

Mr. Perker had reached the last day of his stay in the settlement. It was a fine but cold Sunday. There was a moderate northwest wind swaying the dull evergreen tree-tops and ruffling the gray-blue waters of the lake, but in the woods and along the shore, sheltered by the bordering pines and hemlocks, the air was still and just cool enough not to melt the surface of the frozen sand. Five miles up the shore lived a man with whom Mr. Perker had done business for the firm. Mr. Perker desired to call upon him once more, not really on business, but to show him attention and leave a good impression. This man had a thirteen-year-old boy who, during a visit to a city the previous summer, had seen cowboys perform in a circus, and this had fired his youthful spirit with ambition to lasso something. Mr. Perker thought to win the heart--and custom--of the father by making the boy a present of a lasso. To this end he bought a suitable rope, thirty-six feet long. On one end he had a sailor make a Turk’s-head knot, to prevent its slipping through the grasp. On the other end was the lasso loop. But, lest the ambitious youth should accidentally strangle his younger brother, or his father’s favorite calf or pig, the sailor put a knot in the rope so that the loop could close sufficiently to hold but not to choke. The rope was stretched and limbered with oil and wax, making it a very good lasso for a boy, and strong enough to hold a mule.

Mr. Perker would not go a-hunting on Sunday--he never did. There was, however, no service till evening, so he determined to ride along the beach on his wheel, make the visit, return in time for the service, and start for home on Monday morning. He coiled the lasso and tied it with a thread, so that he could easily carry it on the head of his wheel, and though he did not take his bicycle gun, Smart, of course, accompanied him. The beach sand proved hard and moderately smooth, so that the riding was fair. He was in good spirits, having succeeded well in his business, and at peace with the world, and had no thought of seeing game of any kind.

He had gone nearly half-way, and was riding quietly and comfortably along, minding his own business, when he was startled by seeing a large bear come out of the woods, ahead of him, and walk down to the shore, where it turned and went leisurely forward, evidently not having seen him.

Smart, as was his habit, was--very sagaciously--somewhere else when he was wanted to put himself in danger. If Smart had reasoned that he did not know that his master would meet a bear but, in case his master should meet a bear, it would be a great deal safer for him to be absent, he could not have acted with shrewder wisdom. At that moment he was a quarter of a mile behind in the woods, enjoying himself greatly, trying to ram himself down a woodchuck’s hole, at the bottom of which, his wise nose informed him, a woodchuck either was or recently had been. He was sternly resolved to have that woodchuck out, if it took all day. So now and then he would pull out his head to bark, by way of signaling his master for help, and then ram it down the hole again, so that the woodchuck couldn’t get out without running down his yawning throat.

In the absence of Smart, Mr. Perker conceived a brilliant scheme for the capture of the bear. He would lasso the beast, and then call Smart, whom he supposed to be somewhere close at hand. So breaking the thread that kept the coils of the rope together, he opened the loop, slipped the knotted end under his right thigh, and drew it around the saddle behind him, holding the knot in his left hand, and then pedaled rapidly toward the unconscious and innocent forest monarch, the rubber-tired wheel making no noise. As he was an excellent rider, he could have done this without using either hand; but he kept his left hand, with the knotted end of the lasso in it, upon the handle-bar.

He was almost upon the bear, stealing silently upon his prey, when the bear caught a glimpse of him over his shoulder. Instantly the bear wheeled about, reared upon his hind legs, exhibited a frightfully open countenance and spread claws, at least three inches long, in a way that betokened a warm welcome. At the same time every hair on the animal’s body seemed to bristle with fury, and it snarled in a blood-curdling baritone voice, which would have made a fortune for an opera star villain.

Mr. Perker was not entirely prepared for this reception. It had not occurred to him that his advances toward a familiar acquaintance would be met in that way. He hastily concluded not to intrude. But not having his right hand upon the handle-bar, in a position to put down the break, it was a great deal easier to wish to stop than to accomplish it. Therefore, he simply stood on the pedals, and they pitched him headlong over the handles, right at the bear, like heaving a bag of bran off a wagon.

It was now the bear’s turn to be astonished. He had not calculated upon any such method of assault. He was prepared for a fair fight; but he wasn’t used to having men thrown at him, all doubled up in a wad. “Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves shall never tremble.” But _that_ shape!--well, he was the scaredest bear probably ever seen upon the coast of Lake Michigan. He was so scared that he didn’t have presence of mind enough to run into the woods; but, with a loud snort of panic, he scattered the frozen sand straight down the beach.

In falling Mr. Perker somehow gave the lasso loop such a flirt that it went over the head of the bear and drew about his neck, when he started to run. Mr. Perker did not intend to do it, and the bear ought not to have laid it up against Mr. Perker. It was purely an accident--a liberty with a stranger that Mr. Perker would not have taken under such circumstances, if he could have helped it. In fact he couldn’t have lassoed a bear by the neck if the bear hadn’t been surprised by his header, for a bear on guard is as practiced a boxer as can be found, and one can no more get a noose about his neck than one can over a man’s neck with his hands and arms free to fend it off. As it was, however, the bear was caught; and, as he ran, the knot of the rope caught under the bicycle saddle, and that machine was dragged, rattling, bounding, banging and glittering after the flying brute, adding to his panic, like a tin-pan tied to a dog’s tail.

Mr. Perker scrambled to his feet quicker than he ever did before in his life. His first instinctive impulse was to ascertain if he was still alive, with none of his members missing. Having discovered that he was all there, his next impulse was to run after his beloved wheel, which he did, shouting like a lunatic for “Smart! Smart!” This did not tend to lessen the fright, nor diminish the speed of the bear--quite the contrary.

About twenty rods ahead a small brook had cut a channel through the flat ice with its spring flood, but the ice-banks were still intact a dozen rods from the shore, compelling the outflowing flood to find a channel beneath them. When Mr. Perker first formed the scheme to lasso the bear he had counted upon this open water to stop the animal in case he ran that way. Now he expected the bear to either turn into the woods or else go around the open mouth of the brook on the ice-bank. But, as may be guessed, Mr. Perker was not familiar with bears. This bear, frightened half out of his wits by the bicycle clattering at his heels at the end of the rope, didn’t turn at the brook. On the contrary he plunged into it and swam across, no doubt with the notion that his mysterious pursuer could be stopped by the icy water. Clambering out on the ice on the opposite side, as soon as he got the length of the rope from the brink the bicycle caught under the ice and anchored him. This the more easily because the ice upon which he stood was glassy smooth from the recent overflow, and gave his claws no hold, let him strain, and yank, and dig in his toes and swear as savagely as he might.

Seeing this Mr. Perker hurried faster and shouted louder, doing his best to get around the end of the open channel by way of the ice-bank. He was afraid that the rope would break or be gnawed off and let his beloved wheel sink where the water was probably twenty feet deep. Coming around the head of the channel, he ran along the edge of the ice to get between the bear and the water, and haul up the bicycle. If he could recover his wheel he would be willing to let the bear go. Meanwhile he kept shouting for Smart. On his approach the bear redoubled his efforts to break away, but in vain. Mr. Perker reached the spot and managed to loosen his wheel from its hold under the ice by pulling on its handle-bar. It naturally came up out of the water with a jerk that upset Mr. Perker with great violence, jamming one of his feet between the spokes as he fell.

The bear now set off again, plunging and snarling, this time toward the woods, only a hundred feet away, dragging Mr. Perker by the foot, flat on his back. In hopes of stopping the procession, Mr. Perker flopped over upon his breast, and tried to dig his hands into the ice. No go. He only skinned his hands. As he struck the rougher ice it felt hot from friction, and he turned over again on his back. But it was equally hot that way. When he struck the sand, it seemed red-hot. It was like being drawn over a rasp. Luckily the sand was only a few feet wide, the woods coming down at this point almost to the shore. Here the bear turned slightly, and in a moment Mr. Perker’s free leg went on one side of a small tree, while his caught leg went on the other side. The tree did not break nor his leg pull out by the roots, though Mr. Perker thought for a moment that it would, and the procession was anchored again. By way of backing the anchor Mr. Perker threw his arms about the tree and hugged it with all his might, while he yelled for Smart.

The frightened bear, after a few frantic tugs, became convinced that he could not get away. Then he turned upon the prostrate and yelling Perker with dire intent; but the instant the strain slackened on the rope, Mr. Perker was able to kick, and a single kick freed his caught foot. Before he could rise, however, the bear would have been upon him but for an interruption. That interruption was from Smart who came tearing around the ice-bank and charged bravely to the rescue of his imperiled master.

Finding that the woodchuck--if there was any woodchuck in the hole--evidently intended to stay there, Smart paused in the work of excavation, and sat down to reflect and catch his breath. The instant he was thus quiet he heard the far-off voice of his master calling him in a manner that indicated urgency. Smart ran after his master at full speed, and coming to the spot where Mr. Perker first encountered the bear, stopped as if he had run against something. His nose whispered “bear!” to his brain. The hair on his back bristled. Then he heard Perker shout, and set off on his track again. Coming around the open channel by way of the ice-bank he caught sight of the bear, and charged fiercely upon the unknown enemy, intending to incontinently scatter his vitals all over that part of the coast.

Attacked by the dog, the bear halted in his rush at Mr. Perker, sat up on his haunches, and bestowed a buffet upon poor Smart that rolled him over and over, a dozen feet away. Smart, though a remarkably intelligent dog, did not know much about bears; but that single cuff taught him much. He caught the general idea immediately, and rushed behind Mr. Perker for protection, while the bear rushed after him. Mr. Perker shinned up that small tree very much faster than a boy after a bird’s nest. By the time he was up his own length, spreading his legs as wide as he could, to get them higher, Smart, with admirable strategy, perceiving that the shelter of Mr. Perker’s legs was withdrawn, ran around the tree, looking for a good place to climb it also. The bear ran around after Smart. This wound the rope around the tree; and, when Smart ran off at a tangent, the bear rushing after him was brought up with such a violent jerk of the noose upon his neck that he turned end for end and hit Smart with his hind legs, like the snap of a whip, while every bone in his back cracked. The shock almost jerked Mr. Perker out of the tree, but he hung on grimly, and crawled up a few feet farther. By the time he was eight feet from the ground, however, the tree, which was only as large as a man’s leg at the bottom, began to bend over with his weight, and he could go no higher.

The dog being out of his reach, the bear now ran back at Mr. Perker, and rearing up against the tree, tried to reach him. Mr. Perker again spread his legs wide apart, and drew himself up as far as he could. The bear cautiously raised himself a little higher and managed to give one of Mr. Perker’s swaying legs a scratch that drew from him a yell of pain and fear. Then Smart rushed in and hung upon the bear’s flank, and the bear and Smart dropped upon Mr. Perker’s wheel. The bear got one foot through the spokes, and he and Smart went wildly cavorting about with the wheel, till Mr. Perker’s anguish of mind and failure of muscle let him drop with a yell upon them, knocking the bear down. He did not, however, hold the bear down. On the contrary, he executed a prompt strategic movement, and did not stop rolling over until he brought up twenty feet away. Smart followed him, with that devotion for which he is noted, and the bear followed Smart, until snubbed again by the rope.

At this moment, when Mr. Perker most needed repose, his nerves were startled by the crack of a rifle. The ball sang over his head and pierced that of the bear, who immediately turned slowly around twice, and then sank down in a heap, quivering and kicking, whereupon Smart, with renewed courage, ran in and tugged terribly at one of his ears. As soon as Mr. Perker could comprehend what had happened, he was grateful. He thought the voice of the man who ran forward and asked: “Are you hurt?” was the most welcome sound he had ever heard. He replied that he was “only just a little out of breath.” This reply, wasn’t strictly accurate. A sorrier looking object than Mr. Perker has rarely been seen on Sunday.

The man kicked Smart off the bear’s ear, and then said, looking curiously at the disconsolate Mr. Perker:

“Why! Mr. Perker! how are you?”

Perker limply took his hand, looked at him, and answered:

“Hello! Smith!”

Then he shook Smith’s hand heartily, for Smith was the identical man he was going to see. With Smith was the boy to whom Mr. Perker was taking the lasso. The boy had stood gazing in open-mouthed wonder at the lassoed bear, at Perker, and at Smart, with which sagacious beast he had already struck up a treaty of amity and mutual admiration.

Smith noticed the rope and drew it from the neck of the dead bear.

“Was a tame critter, eh?” he asked.

Perker answered with unnecessary heat: “Tame! not by a blamed sight!”

“You wasn’t trying to lead a wild bear into town with a rope, was you?” asked Smith, grinning.

“That’s what I started to do,” said Perker, seeing that honest confession was best, “but he came near leading me into his camp.”

Then Perker told the whole story, and Smith sat down and laughed till exhausted. Finally he slapped Perker on the shoulder and said, with vast soberness:

“Well, Perker, you’re the pluckiest chap I ever met! You couldn’t have hired any man about here to undertake that job for ten dollars an hour!”

And he laughed again and fell to skinning the bear, chuckling. Then the boy wanted to know what he was going to do with the rope. This reminded Perker and he gave it to him. Never was a boy so thoroughly delighted. He had a lasso that had actually lassoed and held a wild bear, and a big one at that!

Perker found his idolized wheel in a sad state. Its rim was badly buckled, and half a dozen spokes were bent, but after some straightening and tightening, with Smith’s aid, except for a wet saddle, rapidly drying, the wheel was as good as ever.

Mr. Smith proposed to cure the skin and send it to Mr. Perker, taking his city address for that purpose. This pleased Perker immensely; and they parted with mutual satisfaction.

When Mr. Perker reached the city, he limped home, and Mrs. Effie, while she tended his hurts, remarked: “Theophilus, you’re too big a fool to be trusted to go alone into the woods! And the sooner you get rid of that fool of a dog the longer you’ll be likely to dodge the Foolkiller!”

Mr. Perker did not report this observation to the Club, but Mrs. Perker’s kitchen-girl reported it to Mrs. Littleweed’s cook, and a course of pumping, by the Club wits, extracted the other facts from Mr. Perker.

This is the reason the members, when Mr. Perker proudly exhibits the bear-skin, sometimes speak of “Mr. Perker’s bear,” and sometimes of “Mr. Bear’s Perker.”

FAST ICE-YACHTS.

HOW THEY ARE BUILT, RIGGED AND HANDLED.

BY CHARLES LEDYARD NORTON.

On a rocky promontory of the Hudson River, a few miles above Poughkeepsie, there stands, half hidden by the foliage in the summer, a long, low, neatly painted structure instantly suggestive to the nautically inclined of boats and their belongings.

But there is an unaccountable lack of the familiar characteristics of such localities. Even in midsummer there are few, if any, boats anchored in the cove, or hauled up on the shelving rock that serves in lieu of a beach. Through the open doors of the boat-house one may, perhaps, see certain varnishing and rigging operations under way. There are bundles of sails, coils of rope, rows of blocks, and long, curiously curved spars resting upon racks--long enough they are to serve as topgallant-yards for an old-fashioned man-of-war, but no ordinary sailorman would see any use for them with their nautically impossible curves and angles, and their unfamiliar and unshipshape attachments of galvanized iron.

This boat-house, however, is the headquarters of a yacht club that stands easily at the head of its class in all the world; but its fleet of racers is dismantled and laid aside in summers when other yachts are in the height of their glory. This fleet goes into commission only when the floating fields of new ice are fast welded together, and the river surface is solid from the Highlands to the Mohawk.

The Hudson River is by no means the only club, though it may not unfairly be designated as the leading one. At the neighboring towns of Poughkeepsie, New Hamburg and Newburg, and up stream at Hudson, Athens, Saugerties, Albany, and elsewhere, are other associations, with fleets of yachts always eager to try conclusions with their down-stream rivals. Poughkeepsie, and its immediate vicinity, however, has always been, and is likely to remain, the headquarters for ice-yachting.

This is due to several favorable conditions, natural as well as artificial. The river narrows and becomes tortuous at the Highlands--about forty miles from the sea--and this natural obstacle largely determines the permanency of ice in the river above. In a large stream the ice rarely forms across from shore to shore in a single night. It freezes in bands and patches, which become detached from the shore and float up and down with the tide until they become jammed and frozen together. North of the Highlands, too, the average winter temperature is considerably lower than it is to the southward, and sharp frosts come earlier and stay later. The beautiful and picturesque banks, moreover, have since early colonial times proved attractive to lovers of the country, and the riverside is for many miles almost continuously occupied by residents who have abundant means and leisure for such recreations as suit them best. Again, the great harvest field of the Hudson River ice-crop finds here its southernmost limit. At this point in the stream the admixture of sea-water renders the ice more or less unmarketable, and the ice-yachtsmen are therefore not so likely to be interfered with by the armies of men who are set to work by the great companies as soon as the ice is thick enough to pay for cutting and storage.

It is proverbial that no sooner is a good surface formed for ice-yachting than it is hopelessly buried under a shroud of snow; but here again nature comes to the rescue, for the latitude is far enough south to render alternations of frost and thaw probable all through the winter. Accordingly the white surface soon becomes streaked with gray, and ere long the yachtsman looks out of a morning and sees his highway once more practicable for steel runners.

This year engineering science has arrayed itself on the side of the yachtsman, and has built two huge piers in the river at Poughkeepsie. Primarily these are intended for the new cantilever railroad bridge, but incidentally they are welcomed by the winter-sailing clubs, because they will undoubtedly keep the ice in the river longer than it has heretofore been in the habit of staying. This is highly important in their eyes, for not infrequently there are cold “spells” in March which render the ice available for good sport, provided it could be held in position long enough to be temporarily re-frozen and prevented from floating away down stream on the ebb tide.

Despite all these favorable conditions, however, the goddess who presides over the destinies of ice-yachting is but a coy and fickle divinity. Sometimes she vouchsafes to her devotees not more than a day or two of sailing in an entire winter. Often she limits her favors to ten or fifteen days, and only at rare intervals does she smile upon them for thirty days, all told. The ice-yachtsman may, therefore, plume himself upon being the most select and exclusive of all sportsmen. He cannot, if he would, spend very much time _en voyage_, so he makes up for it as well as he may by contriving and perfecting all the details of his craft during her hours of enforced idleness. The result is that he has evolved a fabric that is a marvel of construction, adapted for lightness and strength in a wonderful degree.

Many of our readers have never seen an ice-yacht, but probably most of them have seen and made a common diamond-shaped kite--the simplest and easiest form of kite known to ingenious boyhood. This frame is in its general principles of construction identical with that of the modern ice-yacht, as shown in the working plans published herewith. The cross-piece corresponds with the runner-plank, the upright represents the center-timber, and the cord that passes around the whole is identical with the side-stays. (See Fig. 1.)

It is only necessary to set up a mast at or near the intersection, rig sails upon it, attach some kind of runners to the ends of the runner-plank and to the long or aftermost end of the center-timber, and you will have a very passable model, constructionally speaking, of the modern ice-yacht. Magnify it a hundred-fold, substitute wire-rope with turn-buckles for the side-stays, fit the timber ends with cast-metal caps, bolt everything together with cunningly contrived fittings, mount her upon a set of hardened iron runners, equip her with a “tailor-made” suit of sails, launch her on reasonably smooth ice, and, given a twenty-mile breeze, she will carry you forty miles, or maybe sixty miles, an hour, if you know how to make her do her best.

It may be remarked in passing that very pretty sport may be had with model ice-yachts, constructed somewhat after the manner indicated. Pieces of tin or sheet-iron will do for runners and steering-gear at a pinch, and if the sails are moderate in area and the center-timber tolerably long, so that ballast can be suitably adjusted, she will go like a witch and skim over a mere veneering of ice to the admiration of all beholders. There are always several days at the beginning of winter before the ice is available for skating, when model ice-yachts might be made to do duty instead of the sticks and stones with which impatient boyhood usually disports itself, thereby ruining the ice for the legitimate pastimes of colder weather.

In the regions where the ice rarely becomes thick enough for satisfactory skating, these little ice-yachts may easily afford a deal of not altogether unprofitable amusement. Model yachts have not as yet gained much of a foothold in the nonfreezing United States, but in England, where there are prosperous clubs almost everywhere, even in Hyde Park, in the heart of London, the conditions are very favorable. Sails and rigging are all ready and need only to be mounted upon a suitable frame with runners, steering gear and adjustable ballast. The average Englishman may probably regard this suggestion as unwarrantable, because ice-yachting is wholly beyond his range of experience, but if once he tries it he will find that it opens up possibilities of seamanship not dreamed of heretofore, and he will cover the frozen Serpentine with miniature fleets that will rival in beauty and vastly excel in speed those that dance over its ripples during the summer months.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--A KITE-FRAME FOR AN ICE-YACHT.]

In its main features the Hudson River ice-yacht now closely approaches perfection. Improvements will, of course, be made from time to time in the minor details of rig, and occasionally some phenomenally fast boat will be built, the secret of her speed remaining perhaps, in some degree, unexplained.

A few years ago the lateen rig was simultaneously adopted by the Hudson River and Shrewsbury (N. J.) clubs, and for a time it bade fair to supersede the jib and mainsail boats that had long held the championship pennant. Several very large lateen-rigged yachts were constructed, notably the _Scud_ of the Shrewsbury, and the _Avalanche_ of the Hudson River Club. Experience has shown, however, that craft of that size and rig are phenomenally fast only when the wind rises to No. 70 of Beaufort’s scale, that is to say, something nearly approaching a full-grown hurricane. With such a wind the big lateens are undoubtedly very fast, but the rarity of such conditions leaves them in the lurch on ordinary racing days, and it is by no means certain that even in a hurricane they are sure to win when pitted against a jib and mainsail. At all events, some of the large lateens have been altered to the sloop rig, and their owners are not disposed to try back.

On small or moderate sized yachts, however, the lateen is an admirable rig, and in average racing weather such boats not infrequently distance their larger competitors. In this connection it may be well to compare the respective weights of the two rigs as taken by Mr. John A. Roosevelt, Commodore of the Hudson River Club.

Comparative weights of the _Icicle_ (sloop) and _Avalanche_ (lateen):

_Icicle._ _Avalanche._

Center-timber and box, lbs. 776½ lbs. 768½ Runner-plank and strap, 565 520 Mast, 250 361 Runners, 150 186½ Boom and two blocks, 146½ 451½ Rigging, 125 -- Blocks, -- 93 Rudder-post and tiller, 91 81½ Gaff, 47½ -- Yard, -- 198 Jib-boom and two blocks, 47 -- Blocks, -- 18½ Blocks and halyards, 62 50 Sails, 172 206 --------- --------- lbs. 2,432½ lbs. 3,007¾

It is seen, therefore, that the lateen outscales her rival by about 575 lbs., the two boats being nearly the same size. Theoretically, the _Avalanche_ having only a single sail--and that capable of being set almost as tight and flat as a drumhead--should out-point and out-foot anything of her size, but practically the extra weight hinders more than the better fitting canvas helps her.

The “cat-rig,” too, has been tried, but without the good results anticipated, and a sharpie rig has, it is said, done fairly well with a small boat on the Shrewsbury.

It may be confidently stated that the sloop rig is the safest to count upon for allround work, particularly in the largest-sized boats. In boats of the second and third class the lateen may be used with a chance, not altogether assured, of superlatively good results.

It is not likely that ice-yachts will ever be built larger than the present, the _Avalanche_, _Icicle_, _Northern Light_, _Scud_, and their class, _i. e._, about fifty feet long, and spreading something like 600 square feet of canvas. To sustain such a boat requires comparatively heavy ice; to drive her at a high rate of speed calls for a living gale of wind, and to tow her home when becalmed, or collect her scattered fragments should she chance to be shipwrecked, is a work demanding a large store of patience and endurance. In average blustering wintry weather, with a wind not to exceed, say, twenty-five miles an hour, boats of the second class stand a very fair chance of beating those of a larger spread and heavier weight.

The art of sailing an ice-yacht is _sui generis_. It is, indeed, of comparatively modern origin. A generation ago sheets were started on an ice-yacht when running free, much as they are in an ordinary sailing-boat, and the singular properties of the close-hauled sail were not understood. The modern ice-yachtsman never slacks away his sheet except, perhaps, when he wants to turn a stake with certainty, or when the ice softens. Given a hard surface and a stiff breeze, he will outrun the wind in any direction.

One who hears this paradox stated for the first time may be pardoned for incredulity, nor is it easy in all cases to make clear the possibility of such a feat. A very large majority of intelligent people when confronted with the proposition, simply say that it is impossible and absurd, and are hardly convinced when they actually see an ice-yacht running straight down the wind, with her pennant streaming out astern. To yachtsmen. it had been known for several years that a comparatively light wind would send ice-yachts ahead of the fast express trains on the Hudson River Railroad. After a time the mathematical experts heard of it, and they said it could not be so; they took their little slates and proved their position to the satisfaction of all properly constituted scientific minds. But this did not prevent the yachtsmen from sailing faster and faster, and presently other mathematicians rose up and demonstrated the contrary of the proposition, thereby showing, for the ten-thousandth time, that all save the truth can be proven by figures.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--THE SAILING PARADOX.]

The fundamental principle of sailing an ice-yacht faster than the wind may be readily demonstrated by means of a very simple mechanical device.

Let A, E, B, F be an open frame, A-B a wire stretched diagonally from corner to corner, and G a ring running upon the wire. C-D, another wire, reaches from end to end of the frame, passing also through the ring G at the intersection of the wires. This second wire (C-D) is movable back and forth between A-F and E-B, and parallel to them. It is evident that when C-D is moved the ring G will slide along both wires, and that while C-D is passing from A-F to E-B, G will slide from A to B--twice as far, that is, as the distance traversed by C-D, the moving agent.

[Illustration: SAIL PLAN OF A MODERN ICE-YACHT.]

Now, suppose G to be an ice-yacht; let the movement of C-D across the frame represent the direction and velocity of the wind and the diagonal A-B the distance to be traversed. The ice-yacht G moves twice as far, that is to say, twice as fast as does C-D (the wind) that drives it. Such is, perhaps, as plain a statement of the conditions as can be devised. In practice the elements become more complicated. Let Fig. 3 represent a section of frozen river, with the wind blowing across it in the direction indicated by the arrows. Applying the principle shown in Fig. 2, an ice-yacht may run from A to B while the wind is moving across the river from A-F to E-B. It is not the purpose of this paper to go into the logistics of sailing in general, but any one who can sail a boat will see at a glance, that with the wind as shown in Fig. 3, an ordinary boat would sail nearly or quite as fast from C to D, or from E to F, as she would from A to B. The same rules apply, of course, to an ice-yacht, but with this important difference, while an ordinary sailing-boat meets with increasing resistance from the water the faster she goes through it, an ice-yacht meets less and less frictional resistance from the ice the faster she goes over it. Again, if she is pointing more or less toward the wind (as on a line from E to F), she increases the apparent force of the wind by her own motion. The only considerable resistance is that offered by spars, rigging, etc., in passing through the air, and this is trifling when compared with her large sail area, and the propulsive energy of even a moderate breeze.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--THE SAILING PARADOX IN PRACTICE.]

In sailing an ice-yacht there is none of the vexatious handling of ropes unavoidable in an ordinary sailing-boat. The sheets usually take care of themselves in going about, and the steersman has only to move his tiller a little to starboard or port to secure instant obedience and an eagle-like swoop of the yacht in the desired direction. In high winds, however, the yacht is apt to lift her weather runner clear of the ice, upon which she at once becomes unmanageable and must be brought down to her bearings as soon as possible. If properly balanced she should shortly do this of her own accord, but during the few seconds when she has the bit between her teeth she may do untold mischief.

The astonishing rapidity with which an ice-yacht under control may be handled was well instanced last winter in an encounter between the _Polaris_ and _Arrow_, as indicated in the diagram, Fig. 4. The _Polaris_ was running dead before the wind, heading to pass a space of open water where ice-cutters were at work, when her steersman became aware of the _Arrow_ approaching on his starboard hand at a fearful rate of speed, but with her weather runner in the air, and evidently with the bit between her teeth. A collision was imminent, for the _Polaris_ could not bear away in either direction; on one side was open water and on the other was the _Arrow_, too near to be passed astern. Under the circumstances it was instinct rather than a process of reasoning that led Commodore Roosevelt to jam his helm hard a-starboard and send the _Polaris_ spinning on her center, making a complete revolution almost within her own length (see Fig. 4). She did it, and was on her former course again almost before any one knew what had happened, her jib-boom barely clearing the after leach of the _Arrow’s_ mainsail as she passed astern of her. Such a gyration as this is justifiable only in extreme cases, for of course everything is subjected to a sudden and tremendous strain, and if nothing gives way it speaks well for the perfection of equipment.

Sometimes an ice-yacht will perform this maneuver on her own responsibility and without an instant’s warning, and this is especially true of the smaller class of lateen-rigged boats. With them, however, damage is less likely to result, as the strains are proportionately less severe.

Sailing on the wind is a comparatively simple matter, though, of course, where a number of boats are breaking tacks, as in a thrash to windward on a regatta day, a quick eye and a steady hand are indispensable if collisions are to be avoided and the most made of every turn.

Running down the wind, however, calls for the more skillful seamanship, and involves a closer calculation of chances. Not many years ago, when a fleet of ice-yachts sailed down the wind, it was a straight run with lifted sheets, but after a while some bright fellow discovered that by putting his boat on the wind at her very best point for speed, she would in a few seconds attain a maximum velocity. Then, bearing away, she would run sometimes for several minutes _through_ the wind, her pennant flying out astern, and she sliding past her free-sailing competitors at an astonishing rate.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--A CLOSE CALL.]

Fig. 5 roughly shows the comparative courses of two ice-yachts, A running dead to leeward and B tacking after the method described. The proportions between the tacks across the wind and the runs through it cannot be preserved on so small a map; but it is evident that B traverses a far longer course. That she invariably beats A, other things being equal, is the unanimous testimony of all practical ice sailors. In other words, if a balloon could be persuaded to drift down the wind at a convenient height above the ice, B could let it have a fair start, and could, if properly handled, sail completely around it in a run of two or three miles.

This “proper handling,” however, is not so simple as it seems. It involves an intimate knowledge of and sympathy with one’s boat. Her best point of sailing varies with every variation in the force of the wind, and her skipper should know by instinct exactly when she is doing her very best under existing conditions. She must not be forced so that she will lift her weather runner clear of the ice, for the moment that runner lifts the grip of the lee runner weakens, and the yacht is in danger of making leeway. She must not be turned too sharply, for the rudder checks her headway, and so does the lateral resistance that she encounters while changing directions. A knowledge of the course is of vital importance. Instead of the currents and tide-rips of summer, the winter yachtsman must be familiar with the “windrows,” air-holes, cracks, ice-imbedded drift-wood, and the like, that beset his course. After every storm these are liable to change and new obstructions from similar causes likely to appear. Hence every tack must be calculated to a nicety, so that the next change of direction can be made to the best advantage.

When running for the stake it is important to gauge headway so that the turn can be made without being carried too far beyond the mark; and here again a personal knowledge of the boat and her whims is indispensable for nice seamanship. In the excitement of the moment one may readily lose control, and it is said to be a good plan to slack away the peak halyards a trifle just before rounding. This enables the rudder to act with certainty, and as soon as the turn has been made the halyards can be again hauled taut. This operation necessitates the best modern appliances in the way of hoisting-tackle, for the halyards all lead aft to the “box,” and one man should be able to slack away or haul taut with one hand. Then, of course, there are all the devices known to sailing experts intensified a hundred-fold by the altered conditions.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.]

An absolutely even start can always be had since the contestants can be held at anchor till the signal is given, though, of course, the windward position gives an advantage. Once under way seamanship and knowledge of the course begin to tell, and bold maneuvering may quite as often win a race as in the slower evolutions of regular sailing craft. The swiftness with which any plan can be executed renders the game extremely exciting. One sees an opponent making a short and seemingly unnecessary tack. The natural results must be comprehended instantly or, peradventure, one may find one’s self presently forced to yield the right of way when every second is of the last importance. It is jockeying, perhaps, but when one knows that by crowding a dangerous rival a trifle he will be forced to tack a mile farther on by an insurmountable windrow, one were more than mortal to resist the temptation. It calls for quick thinking and equally quick action to sail an ice-yacht successfully and well in a modern regatta; but the excitement is of the wildest description, and all the accessories are fascinating in the extreme to one who has robust health and does not care a rap for exposure in a northern midwinter.

Our frontispiece is from an instantaneous photograph which caught the _Northern Light_ (holder at the time of the Challenge Pennant) just as she was rounding the home stake, off Poughkeepsie, on Valentine’s Day, 1887. She was probably moving at the rate of twenty miles an hour when the picture was taken. The sleet thrown up by her lee runner can be seen flying off astern. Her weather runner was, in fact, just clear of the ice at the moment, though so slightly as to be imperceptible in the picture. This is probably the best photograph of a moving ice-yacht that has ever been taken.

Every year sees improvements in fittings and rig. The “Haggarty hoist” is now used on the mainsails of the best boats instead of the ordinary mast-hoops. This hoist consists of a series of metal clamps attached to the luff of the sail and engaging a wooden cleat shaped like a T-rail and fastened vertically to the after-side of the mast.

To secure a better “set” the luff of the sail is no longer doubled over on itself, but instead, a canvas binding is sewed on. This gives three thicknesses of canvas instead of five thicknesses, as was often the case under the old system, and, consequently, the sail stretches along the mast, where the greatest hoisting strain falls, and where any inequality is most readily taken up without causing wrinkles elsewhere. The elliptical box, with its comfortable cushions and its central hand-rail for the passengers to grasp in case of need, is suggestive of luxury but in itself it is largely delusive, for no position is less endurable than a half-reclining one with the head raised, as was formerly unavoidable. To render the sitting position possible the iron tiller is now given an upward curve, so that the steersman can sit with his legs across the center-timber, the tiller swinging freely above his knees. This posture, however, necessitates some sort of a backboard, and the best appears to be an upholstered iron frame, as shown in Fig. 6.

[Illustration: FIG 6.--A BACK-REST.]

The flat extensions, A A, pass under the cushion, and a firm back and brace is thus supplied. Another device is to make the central portion of the side of the box higher than the rest, with a narrow cushion to fit, effecting the same end. This matter of cushions is not mere luxury. The rapid passage of the runners over any save the very smoothest of ice produces a jarring motion that speedily becomes unendurable wherever the person rests against a hard or angular surface. In previous articles it has been suggested that stout chair-seats, with arms and back, might be adjusted to the center-timber in connection with a foot steering-gear, similar to those used in canoes. Such seats could be fastened anywhere on the center-timber by means of thumb-screws, thus moving the weight forward or aft according to the special conditions of wind or weather.

The season for ice-yachting in the latitude of New York rarely begins before January and often holds off until February. The daily morning papers always mention the condition of the ice on the preceding day, and by taking an early morning train one may easily reach the sailing-ground by noon or shortly after. The weather, in New York is no criterion of that north of the Highlands. It is often raining on the coast when the sky is clear and the weather fine in the interior. When, therefore, good ice is announced by the papers, the correct thing to do is to take the next train to Poughkeepsie, irrespective of weather. You may be disappointed, for wind and temperature are proverbially fickle; but if you have reasonably good luck you may see the finest ice-yachts in the world, and learn by personal observation how they are managed.

THE LAKE CHAMPLAIN YACHT CLUB.

FREDERIC G. MATHER.

“This is a great day for Lake Champlain,” said a rustic who had been discussing with his fellow the difference between a cat-boat and a sloop. “I may not know the difference, but there’s plenty about here who do--and I say, ‘Hurrah for old Champlain! anyhow.’”

The rustic, like many others who are right, spoke better than he knew. It was a mild morning in September last. Rain had fallen all through the neighborhood, and more was to come according to that never failing test--the low-hung clouds which still covered the eastern slopes of the Adirondacks and refused to lift even when an occasional ray of sunshine gave them every chance. From the opposite shore of New York the early morning hours were watched with intense interest. The alternate layers of mist and mountain showed also stretches of lake, and the larger objects in Burlington appeared through the rifts--the whole making nature’s _mise en scène_ for what was to come.

And, indeed, it was a great day. The Lake Champlain Yacht Club was organized May 16, 1887, with a constitution, by-laws and sailing regulations patterned closely after those of the New York Yacht Club. Its rules for sailing were no stricter than its rules for uniforms. In a word, at the time of the regatta everything that experience and enterprise could suggest had been in preparation for sixteen months under the guidance of such gentlemen as W. Boerum Wetmore, commodore; W. A. Crombie, vice-commodore; J. Gregory Smith, president; W. S. Webb, first vice-president; Henry Ballard, second vice-president; Joseph Auld, secretary, and Horatio Hickok, treasurer. An executive committee of thirty included not only the above but also such names as H. J. Brookes, H. Le Grand Cannon, H. H. Noble, Jacob G. Sanders, J. A. Averill, A. C. Tuttle, W. H. H. Murray and Alvaro Adsit--all of them well-known sailors upon fresh water; while the total membership of two hundred took in navigators as far to the southward as Albany and New York. In fact, it will be noticed that many of the names are those of New Yorkers who spend the summer months along the shores of Champlain, and one enthusiastic member, Robert W. Rogers, comes all the way from New Orleans. Among the members who have not, according to popular belief, made any aquatic record is G. F. Edmunds, the U. S. Senator from the State of Vermont.

Thus all that hard work, good discipline and natty uniforms could do had been done. The day was a great one because it would bring what had been attempted to a practical test. The lake is about one hundred miles long with a breadth varying from half a mile at the southern end to twenty miles (including islands) at the northern end, so that the greatest stretch of clear water from east to west is ten miles, and the longest unobstructed sweep lengthwise is forty miles. There is no perceptible current, although the drainage is northward into the valley of the St. Lawrence. The prevailing winds are from the south, with occasional winds from the north and, near the shores, frequent puffs that come down through the notches in the Green Mountains on one side and the Adirondack Mountains on the other. Given, then, such a lake not so steady for sailing purposes as Long Island Sound, the chain of the Great Lakes, or even the inland lakes of Chautauqua, Seneca and Cayuga with their low-crowned banks, and yet less treacherous than smaller mountain lakes, like George and Memphremagog--to find the craft that will sail it best with speed and safety. This was the problem that had been discussed and solved and solved over again for months, and which had now come to the point where all theories must show their value or cease to be entertained.

Yachting on Lake Champlain was a plant of slow growth. It was hardly an exotic, because some kind of craft had been known there for 250 years. The xebecs of the early French gave way to the sloops and schooners of the English; and the latter, in the decline of commerce, have been followed by the “long-lakers,” and the Canadian square-sail galleys of to-day. Sail boats of uncertain age, and still more uncertain origin, have flitted about the lake for generations; but nothing was ever evolved from them that met the requirements of the modern yacht. It was reserved for the Rev. W. H. H. Murray to bring thither some of the ideas that he had gathered among the oystermen along the coast of Connecticut and to adapt them to a fresh-water lake. Everyone credits Mr. Murray, better known as “Adirondack,” with calling attention to the broad expanse of lake opposite Burlington that had not been used as it might be by sails and hulls of modern cut; and everybody agrees that the present yacht club is the outcome of his earlier efforts, although, in many respects, it has outgrown what he developed and contended for at the first. So Mr. Murray shall have the credit in these pages.

[Illustration: THE “GYPSIE,” PHELPS & SON, BURLINGTON, VT.]

[Illustration: THE “VIRGINIA”--PETER THUST, ST. JOHNS, CANADA.]

It had occurred to Mr. Murray that the type of oyster-boat known on Long Island Sound as the “sharpie,” would fill all the conditions on Champlain noted above. The sharpie was the successor of the old V-shaped punts, or “flat-iron” scows, that brought the earlier oysters to market. When the demand for more bivalves led to the transplanting of Southern oysters to Long Island Sound, the larger boat, the sharpie, was produced, as the one which would combine cheapness, light draught, broad bottom, ready handling with the sail or oar, sea-worthiness, and fair sailing qualities.

[Illustration: THE “FLYAWAY”--DR. W. S. WEBB.]

[Illustration: COMMODORE’S LAUNCH “DOLPHIN.”]

So Mr. Murray constructed the _White Wings_ in Connecticut, and brought it to Burlington to show his faith in his new theory. We may quote liberally from his description of a sharpie adapted for use on Lake Champlain. The length over-all is 50 feet; depth, 4 feet amidships; extreme width of deck, 12 feet; length of center-board, 16 feet; width, 5 feet; distance between masts, 30 feet; sail-area, 200 to 300 yards; length of foremast, 50 feet; length of mainmast, 47 feet. The sails are laced to small booms, or the sprit can be used. The sails can be of strictly “leg-o’-mutton” shape or “clubbed” in form, which is desirable when a large spread of canvas is demanded, because it allows a large sail area, and, at the same time, keeps the major section of the sail low down, where the wind-pressure should be located. These boats are decked and staved in hard woods--oak, cherry, birch or Southern pine. White pine is of course allowed, but it is soft and liable to be marred by indentations. The sides are of white pine plank, 2 inches in thickness, 8 inches wide, and from 16 to 20 feet in length. Such plank-work is easily shaped, and makes a strong boat. The bottom is of Southern pine, finest quality, 2 inches thick and 6 wide, and the stern-piece of best white oak, with plenty of size to it. Fourteen feet abaft the stem is the front of the cabin, and the length of cabin is adapted to suit service. If for home sailing, it can be twelve feet, divided amidships into two apartments--one for men, the other for women. The front section of each apartment, say 4 × 5, is fitted with a lavatory like a Pullman car; height of cabin, six feet in the clear. This gives an elevation of sides above deck-line of, say, two feet, three sides to be built in two or three panels which can be opened inward in fair weather, and buttoned to cabin roof. The cabin is thus converted, at will, into a charming sitting-room, in which ladies and children can be protected from the sun, and yet enjoy the sight of water and mountains beyond. If the boat is intended for cruising, the cabin can be made longer, say twenty-two feet. This would still leave a large cockpit, and accommodate a party of a dozen with berths and tables for sleeping and eating, whether the weather was fair or foul. The table-leaf can be hinged to the center-board case, so as to hang vertically to it and take up no room when not in use. Berths, on bed frames, made of wicker, 6 × 2 feet, are hinged to the cabin sides, and like the table, hang pendant when not in use. Cook’s galley, immediately ahead of the cabin, is entered by a hatch of large size, say 3 × 4 feet, built to be slid forward in close-fitting grooves, so that in rough weather it would be practically water-tight. The cabin should be of quartered oak or cherry, or any desirable wood. Fifty chairs can be placed in the cabins and cockpit.

Such were the boats of which Mr. Murray wrote: “They are well adapted to meet the wants of amateurs, and will do much to make yachting a popular recreation to a degree never hitherto realized.” The appearance of the _White Wings_ led to the building of other sharpies, and an organization under the name of the Sharpie Yacht Club of Burlington became the nucleus of the present yacht club.

Since Burlington boasts no canoe or rowing clubs, it was Mr. Murray’s idea to combine all the boating interests as a part of a general scheme which should take charge of all kinds of sports and pastimes natural to such a magnificent body of inland water, and yet the boating section of the club was to be devoted to sharpies--the model to which Mr. Murray still pins his faith. As the club grew it showed decided tendencies toward a regular yacht club. This carried with it the erection of a $5,000 club-house on one of the best wharves in the harbor at a point about which all the boating tendencies of the lake might rally, the expenses of membership being only $10 yearly with no financial responsibility beyond this figure.

As an illustration of the very effective and concise way of doing things, it will be of interest to repeat a statement that was posted upon the bulletin board: “The regatta committee will announce before each race in which direction the course shall be sailed, which will depend upon the wind. If the course is first to the north from the club-house, all yachts will pass to the right of all rounding marks, leaving them on their port sides. In case an overlap exists between two yachts when both of them, without tacking, are about to pass a mark on the required side, then the outside yacht must give the inside yacht room to pass clear of the mark. A yacht shall not, however, be justified in attempting to establish an overlap and thus force a passage between another yacht and the mark after the latter yacht has altered her helm for the purpose of rounding. When a yacht is in danger of running aground, or of touching a pier, rock or other obstruction, and cannot go clear by altering her course without fouling another yacht, then this latter shall on being hailed by the former, at once give room, and in case one yacht is forced to tack or to bear away in order to give room, the other shall also tack or bear away, as the case may be, at as near the same time as is possible without danger of fouling.”

The regatta should have taken place on the first Tuesday in August, and that will be the date hereafter; but last year it was postponed till September 21, in the hope that certain new boats might be finished and enter the races. The _Nautilus_, the most eagerly expected of all, failed to appear. We will make note of her later on.

[Illustration: SHARPIE YACHT “BURLINGTON”--JOSEPH AULD AND OTHERS, BURLINGTON, VT.]

It was required in every instance that there should be three starters or no race. The club course of about 8-5/16 miles commenced on a line inside the breakwater and at right angles to the club-house, round the south end of the breakwater, south of Rock Dunder, south of Juniper Ledge buoy, west end of Juniper Island, north end of breakwater to starting line. This was the course for the first class sailing yachts (33 feet and upward), the time not to exceed 2¾ hours. The first prize was $60, and the second $20.

[Illustration: W. S. WEBB, FIRST VICE-PRESIDENT.

W. A. CROMBIE, VICE-COMMODORE. JOSEPH AULD, SECRETARY. ]

There had been a brush, a few days before, for the championship pennant. The _Flyaway_, a sloop built by Lawler, of Boston, for Dr. W. S. Webb. had covered the course in 1h. 30m. 42s. Next came the _Ripple_, a sloop built and owned by Adsit and Bigelow, in 1h. 32m. 50s.; and last came the sharpie, _White Wings_, built under Murray’s eye, and owned by C. B. Gray, her time being 1h. 48m. 30s. The same boats started in the first class race, except that the sharpie, _Burlington_, owned by Joseph Auld and others, having less freeboard and an improved stern, took the place of the _White Wings_. Time allowance was waived by the _Ripple_ and the _Burlington_. The _Ripple_ came over the line first and held the lead till, on rounding Juniper Island, she was passed by the _Flyaway_. Then came a very close contest, the _Ripple_ afterward claiming she would have won if she had had the time allowance. The elapsed time was: _Flyaway_, 1h. 45m. 3s.; _Ripple_, 1h. 46m. 33s. The _Burlington_ was becalmed and withdrew.

By this time a drizzling rain had set in; but the yachtsmen and their friends had had enough taste of the sport to want more. The second class race was for sailing yachts measuring between 20 and 33 feet. The prizes were $45 and $15. The course was the club course, omitting the turning of Juniper Ledge buoy--distance, 7⅓ miles, to be covered in 2¾ hours. There were five starters, and the prospects were for the best race of the day. But the rain beat down the wind; the race became a drifting match, and was postponed till the next day. The starters were: the _White Wings_, sharpie; the _Agnes T._, a sloop owned by T. A. Taft; the _Princess_, a sloop owned by R. W. Rogers; the _Puritan_, a sloop owned by W. C. Witherbee, and the _Eagle_, a schooner-rigged keel-boat owned by W. S. Hopkins. The same yachts were allowed to sail in the postponed race on the following day, but only the _Agnes T._ appeared. She sailed over the course in 1h. 14m. 25s. Two entries of the day before were barred out because they did not start at that time.

There was still more rain and still less wind when the third class yachts (under 20 feet) were called. The course was 5-13/16 miles, starting around the north end of the breakwater, thence about Rock Dunder, and homeward around the south end of the breakwater. Two hours was the time limit; and the prizes were $30 and $10. The only starter was the sloop _Goat_, owned by W. C. Witherbee--and so the race was declared off.

[Illustration: THE BURLINGTON Y. C. HOUSE.]

But no amount of rain or lack of wind could keep back the steam and naphtha launches of under 50 feet from racing for the $100 cup offered by Commodore Wetmore. The course was around the north end of the breakwater, north of Appletree buoy, south of Proctor’s shoal buoy and around the south end of the breakwater, a distance of 7 1-5 miles. The time limit was 1½ hours. Four of the starters finished the race; the fifth, the _Idlewild_, owned by Averill & Kellogg, having passed the first buoy only. The starters, together with their owners and elapsed time, were these: the _Nymph_, Dr. W. S. Webb, 41m. 55s.; the _Cecil_, Myers & Clough, 49m. 33s.; the _Adonis_, J. B. Tressidder, 52m. 14½s.; the _Comus_, R. W. Rogers, 58m. 17s. It was evident from the start that the _Nymph_ would win--but there was a very exciting contest for second place, the _Cecil_ finally leading the _Adonis_. In figuring the result the Isherwood rule was used, because the lengths of all the boats were less than 50 feet. If they had been more than 50 feet, the Emory rules of the American yacht club would have held. The Isherwood rules provide that the speed in knots per hour is divided by the cube root of the length on the waterline of the yachts respectively, and the quotients represent, relatively, the merits of the different yachts. Based on this rule, the ratios were: _Nymph_, 1.13; _Cecil_, 0.97; _Adonis_, 0.91.

The _Nymph_ is 46 feet long, 8 feet beam, and 3 feet draught. She divides with the _Dolphin_, owned by Commodore Wetmore, the honor of being the fastest steam launch on the lake. The _Dolphin_ is 42 feet long, with the same beam and draught as the _Nymph_. On October 15 there was a test of speed between the two for the champion pennant of the lake. The _Nymph_ won by 11½s. over a 7-mile course, there being no time allowance. On November 1 another race over a course of 6½ miles was won by the _Dolphin_ by 32½s. We may look for good time from both the _Dolphin_ and the _Nymph_ in the steam race of 1889.

[Illustration: COMMODORE B. WETMORE.]

The greatest race of all came off upon Saturday, September 22, the second and final day of the regatta. This was for the $500 cup made by Tiffany, and presented by the ladies of Burlington. It is an elaborately-made punch-bowl, with a fine engraving, on the outside, of the harbor of Burlington. According to the rules of the club, “the Ladies’ Cup” shall be a perpetual challenge, and shall be sailed for each year by the yachts belonging to the members of the club at their annual regatta. The course shall be about ten miles, and the sailing allowances, etc., shall be governed by such rules of the club, as from time to time may obtain. The course, etc., may be changed from time to time by the regatta committee as the exigencies of the club may require. They, or their successors in office, are made custodians of the cup for the club, and shall award the same each year to the successful yacht; which yacht shall have its name and the date of the regatta engraved on the cup by the committee, and shall hold it until the next annual regatta, giving bonds to the committee in the sum of $600 for the safe keeping of the same. Any damage or loss to the cup while in the possession of a yacht shall be appraised and deducted by the committee from the bond on the return of the cup, which shall be one week before the next annual meeting. Owners of yachts failing to return the cup at the time specified, shall sacrifice their bonds and cease to be members of the club. A yacht holding the cup and not competing for its possession, is considered as having competed and lost. In all races, at least three yachts must start or no race, unless a race has been postponed; but should the yacht which is in possession of the cup be a competitor, she may sail the course, without this limit as to the number starting.

The wind being from an unfavorable quarter, the course of 9⅞ miles was reversed. It led from the south end of the breakwater, south of Rock Dunder, south of Juniper Ledge buoy, west of Juniper Island, north of Appletree buoy, and around the north end of the breakwater. Eight yachts entered the lists; the _Flyaway_, the _Agnes T._, the _Ripple_, the _White Wings_, the _Burlington_, the _Gypsie_, Phelps & Son, the _Surprise_, Joseph Labelle, and the _Virginia_, Peter Thust, the two latter being Canadians. There was a splendid start, the eight boats all crossing the line within a space of 1m. 14s. They kept well together, and on turning the Ledge buoy they were so closely bunched as to be in each other’s way. Then came more than four miles of beating. The _White Wings_ capsized in trying to house her jib, and the Canadian boats gave up the fight. The _Agnes T._ had led thus far with a prospect of winning, because she was allowed 2m. 10s.--a figure that would have given her the race over the _Flyaway_ the day before. But her narrow beam kept down the area of her sails, and she dropped out, while the _Flyaway_ spread her gaff-topsail and shot ahead. The _Burlington_ held her port tack well into the broad lake, the _Gypsie_ tacking nearly as long. It was evident the race belonged to the _Flyaway_ or the _Agnes T._ The latter was 6½m. behind in turning the Appletree buoy. Then the race homeward was commenced. The _Flyaway_ set her jib-topsail, and the _Agnes T._ set her spinnaker. It was to be a very close thing--for the _Flyaway_ had allowed her rival 2m. 26s., and the _Gypsie_ 9m. 50s. Had not the spinnaker gone overboard, the _Agnes T._ might have won.

The score stood--

_Elapsed_ _Corrected_ _Time._ _Time._ H. M. S. H. M. S. Flyaway 2 03 19 2 03 19 Agnes T. 2 09 10 2 06 44 Gypsie 2 17 20 2 07 30 Burlington 2 16 28 2 22 55

It should be stated that the _Burlington_ was obliged to give an allowance of 6m. 27s. to the winner--thus making her fourth, although she was third in elapsed time. As soon as the _Flyaway_ crossed the line there was a welcome from all the steam-whistles in and about the harbor, such as old Champlain had never heard before.

Now came an incident that showed the _esprit de corps_ of the new yacht club. Many of the older clubs do not venture upon the Corinthian race, wherein every boat must be sailed by its owner, assisted solely by members of the club to which he belongs. Even if the members want a race of this sort, it is only after years of hard work and constant sailing contests, that it will be worth the trouble. But Commodore Wetmore had with him upon the _Dolphin_--the official boat--Col. W. A. Crombie, vice-commodore; Chester Griswold, fleet captain; Joseph Auld, secretary; Maj. M. B. Adams, U. S. Engineers; Captain Abbott, of the 6th U. S. Cavalry, and one or two civilians, who were also land-lubbers. It was suggested to the commodore that it was of no use to start the Corinthian race because there could be none--the _Agnes T._ alone offering to sail. But the commodore blew his whistles, the proper flag appeared on the club-house, and the race was started in good form--all except the boats. Then the Commodore delivered himself: “I propose to let everybody know that we go through the forms of starting every race, whether there is anybody to start or not. Next year every boatman and every visitor will know just what to expect. It is better to start our first regatta right and educate everybody up to the proper way to do these things.”

The final whistle was blown and the first annual regatta of the Lake Champlain Yacht Club was over; and over with great credit, thanks more

## particularly to the energetic Regatta Committee, W. Boerum Wetmore,

Chester Griswold and H. Le G. Cannon, of New York, and Elias Lyman and Lieut. A. S. Cummins, of Burlington. Then the sharpies, cutters, sloops and cats sailed away; and if you were “handy there” you must have heard the old refrain taken up and echoed back from the hills!--

[Illustration: THE “AGNES T.”--T. A. TAFT.]

“Watch her! catch her! Jump up in a ju-ba-ju; Give her sheet and let her howl, We’re the boys to put her through. Oh! you ought to hear her howling When the wind is blowing free.”

Among the sailing-yachts that did not race, were--the _Emily_, Rev. C. H. Kimball, of Hartford, Conn.; and the _Champlain_, J. Armor Knox, of New York. The list would not be complete without a mention of three screw-yachts: the _Sappho_, owned and sailed by the ever-hospitable Dr. W. S. Webb; the _Scionda_, which knows every reef and bay of Champlain, under the guidance of the genial commodore, Jacob G. Sanders; and the _Alexandria_, upon whose decks and within whose cabins Mr. Alexander Macdonald, of St. Johns, dispensed true Canadian hospitality, and added much to the social features of the regatta by the presence of his guests, Mayor Macdonald, U. S. Consul Bertrand, and Mr. Charles Aspin, of St. Johns, and Judge Davidson, Col. and Mrs. Bond, Miss Bond, Miss Wood, and Miss Grant, of Montreal.

It is hoped, and rather expected, that another year we may see a race for steam yachts. The _Sappho_ is 104 feet long, 15 feet beam and 7 feet 6 inches in draught. The _Scionda_ is 98 feet long, 17 feet beam and 6 feet in draught. The _Alexandria_ is about 85 feet long, with a beam and draught nearly the same as the _Scionda_. She is built not so much for speed as for porpoise and other fishing off the coast of Newfoundland, and all of her arrangements and appliances are of the most complete and compact kind. An engine, from Providence, R. I., gives the motive-power.

The new yacht club starts with all the advantages that the experience of the older clubs can offer. It is really the pioneer of strict yachting on the inland waters of the United States. Even on salt water the history of yachting commences with the New York Yacht Club less than fifty years ago; and all the developments of the present day date from within the past twenty years. The pioneer of clubs in New England, the Boston, was not formed till 1865. The South Boston was formed in 1868; and the Bunker Hill and the Portland in 1869. At the latter date there were only fifteen clubs in the United States--all of them on salt water. So the new club enters the lists not much behind the others in age, and with every inducement and opportunity to avoid their mistakes, and to profit by their success. In these days of steam-power the yachtsmen are the only ones left to keep alive the tone and vigor of the old-time seamanship which was the theme of song and story. And when the American navy finds its reserve--as it surely will--in the well-trained yachtsmen of the day, then the Champlain Club will offer aid that is worth having upon a lake that saw the transit of arms for more than 200 years.

But the Lake Champlain Yacht Club is thus early in the process of changing from its original design and scope. We have already seen how it has grown beyond the sharpie. In spite of schooner or barque rigs and lower freeboards and more cutter-like sterns the sharpies that entered the races showed that they were both out-pointed and out-footed by the sloops. In other words, they failed to hold that grip upon the water that all boats must have when beating. Their narrow beams also keep down the area of their sails. As racers, therefore, the regatta showed them to be failures--although they are safe, roomy and comfortable boats for cruising. The accident to the _White Wings_ should not tell against the sharpie model, for even a broader beamed boat is liable to go over when a gybe comes along and the booms and the ballast are on the same side of the keel. In running before the wind, however, the sharpie proves to be a safe and a fairly speedy boat.

The other extreme--to which the club seems to be tending--is the salt-water sloop of the latest design. Such an one, the _Nautilus_, was expected to be ready for this regatta, but it will surely be on hand next year, prepared to beat all comers, if what is claimed can be proved. The hull floats a mile or two down the lake, and the spars and boom are laid aside till another season. Burgess, of Boston, finished the lines, and they are very nearly those of the _Volunteer_, the defender of the _America’s_ Cup, but on a smaller scale. The length on deck is 53 feet, and on the waterline 40 feet. The beam is 15 feet and 3 inches, and the draught is 5 feet--or about 13 feet with the 12-foot center-board down. The color is white, but the gunwales are of oak, and the combings are of mahogany. Steel rigging is used. The mast is 42 feet high, and the topmast is 34 feet more, a total of 76 feet from the deck. From the step of the mast to the end of the bowsprit is 39 feet, while the boom is 47 feet long. This makes the lower edge of the sail-plan triangle 86 feet. With a single rig of sails spread the _Nautilus_ will carry about 350 square yards, but if the flying-jib, the spinnaker, and other extra sails are included, the area will reach about 700 square yards.

Of course the building of the _Nautilus_ is tentative. It remains to be seen whether as much sail area as can be spread to the steady breezes of salt water can be spread with profit, or even with safety, to the comparatively unsteady and uncertain winds of an inland lake that is surrounded by mountains. The American Canoe Association has proved, on a smaller scale, that big sails on a mountain-locked lake are to be avoided. Experience has shown that a moderate area of sail, well handled, wins the day; but there are times when a light wind gives the race to the man who has the largest area. The same experience is likely to come to the yacht club, and our prediction is that it will soon be shown that the _Nautilus_ has too many and too large sails for her hull, and that by the time of the regatta in August she will appear with a smaller area. But if the _Nautilus_ can go through the narrow pass in the lake known as Split Rock, with its varying currents of air and water, and its sudden and terrific squalls from off Whallon’s bay, then she can do anything; for that is the test of seamanship, according to the old sailors on the lake. Such a severe trial, however, should not be asked of the _Nautilus_, or of any other new boat that is built for the same purpose. Her mission is not so much to tempt Providence as to mark an era in the advancement of yachting upon the unsalted waters.

Whatever may be thought of Burlington as a place of winter resort, it is certain that it is developing into a more popular place for the passing of the warmer months. Instead of the winter carnivals we have not only yacht-racing, but all the other pleasures that the water can afford. While the principal rivers of the New York shore are bounded by rocks, those on the Vermont shore are bounded by long bars of sand. To the northward of Burlington the Lamoille sends out a long sand-bar on which, with a little assistance by men, a drive has been formed to one of the larger islands. It goes by the name of the Sandbar Bridge. Then there is the Winooski, or Onion River, which empties into the lake seven or eight miles south of the Lamoille River, and a mile or so north of Burlington. The river rises close to the Connecticut River, on the southern borders of Vermont breaks through the range of the Green Mountains and shows caves at Duxbury and many other points along the slope of the Camel’s Hump. The river, in fact, runs through the valley between Mansfield and the Camel’s Hump, and presents a series of surprises to the tourist.

Burlington was in the old seigniory of La Manaudiere on both sides of the Lamoille River, and belonged to Pierre Rainbault, who was one of the French victims at the time of the conquest of Canada by the English. Burlington has many beautiful spots, and the monuments to Lafayette and Allen are especially worth visiting. The isolated rock Dunder, only a mile or two off from the wharves, has always been an object of mystery, many claiming that it was the original boundary between the French and English Indians. Then there is Juniper Island, on which the United States has established a light-house, and the breakwater which forms the real harbor of the city except when, as occasionally happens, the waves break down the breakwater itself. Only a short distance down the lake are Shelburne town, and the neighboring resort known as Cedar Beach. Then we come to the extensive grounds, thousands of acres in area, recently purchased by the Vanderbilts and their connections, and now developed into most beautiful parks and all kinds of driveways, that would do credit to cities of much larger growth.

Indeed, Burlington is the city which Edward Everett Hale recently described as a fitting answer to Matthew Arnold’s strictures upon the homeliness of Americans and their surroundings. Mr. Hale spoke of the new hospital in Burlington, and its fund of half a million dollars, and said: “If this be a commonplace monument, let us thank God that we live in a commonplace land.” He spoke of the public library with its choice collections, and was informed that it was a question whether there were three or four paupers in the poorhouse. Then Mr. Hale went on to say: “This is so distinguished a condition of affairs that I should not dare tell that story in any social science congress in Europe. It would be set down as a Yankee exaggeration. People would say it was impossible. It is not impossible, because the men and women of Burlington have known how to give themselves to the administration of the wealth in common.”

THE BREAKING OF WINTER.

BY PATIENCE STAPLETON.

“That’s the fust funerel I’ve went to sence I was a gal, but that I drove to the graveyard.”

“I dunno as that done the corp enny good.”

“An’ seems all to onc’t I miss old Tige,” muttered the first speaker half to herself.

It was snowing now, a fine mist sifting down on deep-drifted stone-walls and hard, shining roads, and the tinkle of sleigh-bells, as a far-away black line wound over the hill to the bleak graveyard, sounded musical and sweet in the muffled air. Two black figures in the dazzling white landscape left the traveled road and ploughed heavily along a lane leading to a grove of maples, cold and naked in the winter scene.

“They say Ann Kirk left a good prop’ty,” said the first speaker, a woman of fifty, with sharp black eyes, red cheeks, few wrinkles and fewer gray hairs in the black waves under her pumpkin hood. She pulled her worn fur cape around her neck and took a new grasp on her shawl, pinning it tight. “Ann an’ me used to take a sight of comfort driving old Tige.”

The man, her companion, grunted and went sturdily ahead. He was enveloped in a big overcoat, a scarf wound around his neck and a moth-eaten fur cap pulled down over his ears. His blue eyes were watery from the cold, his nose and chin peaked and purple, and frost clung to the short gray beard about his mouth.

“Who’ll git the prop’ty?” panted the woman. She held her gown up in front, disclosing a pair of blue socks drawn over her shoes.

“Relashuns, I s’pose.”

“She was allus so savin’, keepin’ drippins for fryin’, and sellin’ nearly every mite of butter they made; an’ I’ve heered the Boston relashuns was extravagant. Her sister hed on a black silk to the funerel to ride to the grave in; I guess they are well-to-do.”

“Dunno,” gruffly.

Somehow then the woman remembered that glossy silk, and that she had never had one. Then this sister’s husband, how attentive he was leading his wife out to the sleigh, and she had seen them walking arm-in-arm the past summer, when no man in Corinth ever offered his arm to his wife unless it were to a funeral and they were first mourners. “Silas never give me his arm but the fust Sunday we were merried,” she thought; “bein’ kind to wimmen wan’t never the Lowell’s way.” A sharp pain in her side made her catch her breath and stop a moment, but the man paid no heed to her distress. At the end of a meadow on a little rise looking down a long, shady lane, stood a gray old farm-house, to which age had given picturesqueness and beauty, and here Maria Lowell had lived the thirty years of her married life. She unlocked the door and went into the cold kitchen where the fire had died down. A lean cat came purring from under the table, and the old clock seemed to tick more cheerily now the mistress had returned.

“A buryin’ on Christmas Eve, the minister said, and how sad it were, and I felt like tellin’ him Ann an’ me never knowed Christmas from enny other day, even to vittles, for turkeys fetched better prices then, an’ we sold ourn.” She went into a frozen bedroom, for Corinth folks would have thought a man crazy to have a fire in a sleeping-room except in sickness; she folded her shawl and cape and laid them carefully on the feather bed, covered with its gay quilt, the fruit of her lonely hours. Mechanically she set about getting supper, stirring the fire, putting a pan of soda biscuits in to bake, and setting a dish of dried-apple sauce and a plate of ginger cookies on the table. “Berried on Chrismus Eve, but little she ever thought of it, nor me, and little of it Jimmy hed here to home.”

She looked at her biscuits, slammed the oven door, glanced cautiously around to see if Silas, who had gone to milk the cow, were coming; then drawing her thin lips tighter, went back into the cold bedroom. With ruthless hand tearing open an old wound, she unlocked a drawer in the old mahogany bureau and took out something rolled in a handkerchief--only a tiny vase, blue and gilt, woefully cheap, laughed at by the cultured, scorned by the children of to-day. She held it tenderly in her cold hand and brought back the memory that would never die. It was years and years ago in that very room, and a little child came in holding one chubby hand behind him, and he looked at her with her own bright eyes under his curly hair. “Muver, Jimmy’s got a s’prise.” She remembered she told him crossly to go out of the cold room and not bother her. She remembered, too, that his lip quivered, the lip that had yet the baby curve. “It was a present, muver, like the minister sed. I got candy on the tree, but you didn’t git nawthin’, and I buyed you this with my berry money.” The poor little vase in that warm chubby hand--ay, she forgot nothing now; she told him he was silly to spend good money on trash, and flung the vase aside, but that grieved childish face came back always. Ah, it would never fade away, it had returned for a quarter of a century. “I never was used to young ones,” she said aloud, “nor kindness,” but that would not heal the wound; no self-apology could. She went hurriedly to the kitchen, for Silas was stamping the snow off his feet in the entry.

“I got fifty dollars for old Tige,” he said, as he poured his tea into his saucer to cool; “he was wuth it, the honest old creetur!”

The little black-eyed woman did not answer; she only tightened her lips. Over the mantel where the open fireplace had been bricked up, was a picture in a narrow black frame, a colored print of Washington on a fine white horse, and maidens strewing flowers in his pathway.

“When Tige was feelin’ good,” continued Silas, “he’d a monstrous likeness to thet hoss in the pictur, monstrous! held his hed high an’ pranced; done you good to see him in Bath when them hosses tried to parss him; you’d a thort he was a four-year-old! chock full of pride. The hackman sed he was a good ’un, but run down; I don’t ’low to overfeed stock when they ain’t wurkin’.”

“Ourn has the name of bein’ half starved,” muttered the woman.

Silas looked at her in some surprise. “I ginerelly gits good prices for ’em all the same.”

“We ginerelly overreach every one!”

“Goin’ to Ann’s funerel hez sorter upset ye, M’ri: Lord, how old Tige would cavort when Jim would ride him; throw out his heels like a colt. I never told the hackman Tige was eighteen year old. I ain’t over pertikler in a hoss trade, like everybody else. He wun’t last long I calc’late now, for them hack horses is used hard, standin’ out late nights in the cold an’--”

“Was the Wilkins place sold out ter-day?” said the woman hastily, with agonizing impatience to divert his thoughts to something else.

“Yes, it were,” chuckled Silas, handing his cup for more tea, “an’ they’ll have ter move ter Bosting. You was ginning me for bein’ mean, how’d you like to be turned outer doors? Ef I do say it, there ain’t no money due on my prop’ty, nor never was.”

“Who air you savin’ it fur?” said Maria, quietly. She sat with downcast eyes tapping her spoon idly on her saucer; she had eaten nothing.

“Fur myself,” he growled, pushing his chair back. He lit a pipe and began to smoke, his feet at the oven door.

Outside it was quite dark, snow and night falling together in a dense black pall. Over the lonely roads drifted the snow, and no footfall marred it. Through drear, silent forests it sifted, sifted down, clung to cheery evergreens, and clasped shining summer trees that had no thought for winter woes; it was heaped high over the glazed brooks that sang, deep down, songs of summer time and gladness, like happy, good old folks whose hearts are ever young and joyous. Over the wide Kennebec, in the line of blue the ferry-boat kept open, the flakes dropped, dropped and made no blurr, like the cellar builders of temples and palaces, the rank and file, the millions of good, unknown dead, unmentioned in history or the Bible. The waves seething in the confined path crackled the false ice around the edges, leaped upon it in miniature breakers, and swirled far underneath with hoarse murmur. In the dark water something dark rose and fell with the tide. Was there a human being drifting to death in the icy sea? The speck made no outcry; it battled nobly with nature’s mighty force. Surely and slowly the high wharfs and the lights of Bath faded; nearer grew the woods of Corinth; the ferry landing and the tavern-keeper’s lamp.

“I heered suthin’ on the ferry slip,” said a little old man in the tavern, holding his hand behind his ear.

“Nawthin’, night’s too black,” said the tavern-keeper; “you’re allus a hearin’ what no one else do, Beaman.”

No star nor human eye had seen the black speck on the wild water, and no hand lent it aid to land.

In ugly silence Silas smoked his pipe, while equally still, Maria washed the dishes. She stepped to throw the dish-water outside the door and then she heard a sound. The night was so quiet a noise traveled miles. What was it, that steady smothered thud up the lane where so seldom a stranger came? Was it only the beating of her heart after all? She shut the door behind her and hurried out, wrapping her wet cold hands in her apron. Suddenly there came a long, joyful neigh!

“How on airth did that critter git home?” cried Silas, jumping to his feet.

Nearer, nearer, in a grand gallop, with tense muscles and quivering limbs, with upraised head and flying mane, with eager eyes, nearer, in great leaps thrusting time and distance far behind, came that apparition of the night.

“Oh, my God!” cried the woman wildly, “old Tige has come home--come home to this place, and there is one living thing that loves it!”

The light flared out from the open door. “How on airth did he git across the river?” said Silas, querulously. “An’ how am I goin’ to git him back in this weather?”

There he stood, the noble old horse that her boy had raised from a colt, had ridden, had given to her when he went away. “Mother,” her boy had said, “be good to old Tige. If ever father wants to sell him, don’t you let him. I’d come back from my grave if the old horse was abused--the only thing I loved, that loved me in this place I cannot call a home. Remember he has been so faithful.”

Ay, he had been faithful, in long, hot summer days, in wide, weary fields, in breaking the stony soil for others’ harvest, in bringing wood from the far forest, in every way of burden and work.

He stood quivering with cold, covered with ice, panting after his wild gallop; but he was home, poor brute mind! That old farm was his home: he had frolicked in its green fields as a colt, had carried a merry-voiced young master, had worked and rested in that old place; he might be ill-treated and starved, he did not grieve, he did not question, for it was home! He could not understand why this time the old master had not taken him away; never before had he been left in Bath. In his brute way he reasoned he had been forgotten, and when his chance came, leaped from the barn, running as horse never ran before, plunged off the wharf into the black waves, swam across and galloped to his home.

“If there is a God in Heaven, that horse shall not go back!” cried the woman fiercely; “if you take him from here again it shall be over my dead body! Ay, you may well look feared; for thirty years I have frozen my heart, even to my own son, and now the end’s come. It needed that faithful brute to teach me; it needed that one poor creature that loved me and this place, to open the flood-gates. Let me pass, and I warn you to keep away from me. Women go mad in this lonely, starved life. Ay, you are a man, but I am stronger now than you ever were. I’ve been taught all my life to mind men, to be driven by them, and to-night is a rising of the weak. Put me in the asylum, as other wives are, but to-night my boy’s horse shall be treated as never before.”

“But M’ri,” he said, trembling, “there, there now, let me git the lantern, you’re white as a sheet! We’ll keep him if you say so; why hadn’t you told me afore?”

She flung him aside, lit the lantern and then ran up to an attic chamber under the eaves. “M’ri, you hain’t goin’ to kill yourself?” he quavered, waiting at the foot of the stairs. She was back in a moment, her arms full of blankets.

“What on airth!”

“Let me alone, Silas Lowell, these were my weddin’ blankets. I’ve saved ’em thirty years in the cedar chist for this. They was too good for you and me; they air too poor fur my boy’s horse.”

“But there’s a good hoss blanket in the barn.”

“The law don’t give you these; it mebbe gives you me, but these is mine.”

She flung by him, and he heard the barn door rattle back. He put on his coat and went miserably after her.

“M’ri, here’s yer shawl, you’ll git yer death.” The barn lit by the lantern revealed two astonished oxen, a mild-eyed cow, a line of hens roosting on an old hay-rack and Maria rubbing the frozen sides of the white horse. “Put yer shawl on, M’ri, you’ll git yer death.”

“An’ you’d lose my work, eh? Leave me, I say, I’m burning up; I never will be cold till I’m dead. I can die! there is death ’lowed us poor critters, an’ coffins to pay fur, and grave lots.”

Silas picked up a piece of flannel and began to rub the horse. In ghastly quiet the two worked, the man watching the woman, and looking timorously at the axe in the corner. One woman in the neighborhood, living on a cross-road where no one ever came, had gone mad and murdered her husband, but “M’ri” had always been so clear-headed! Then the woman went and began piling hay in the empty stall.

“You ain’t goin’ to use thet good hay fur beddin’, be ye, M’ri?” asked Silas in pathetic anxiety.

“I tell you let me be. Who has a better right to this? His labor cut it and hauled it; this is a time when the laborer shall git his hire.”

Silas went on rubbing, listening in painful silence to the click of the lock on the grain bin, and the swish of oats being poured into a trough.

“Don’t give him too much, M’ri,” he pleaded humbly, “I don’t mean ter be savin’, but he’ll eat hisself to death.”

“The first that ever did on this place,” laughed the woman wildly.

Then standing on the milking-stool she piled the blankets on the grateful horse, then led him to the stall where she stood and watched him eat. “I never see you so free ’round a hoss afore,” said Silas; “you used to be skeered of ’em, he might kick ye.”

“He wouldn’t because he ain’t a man,” she answered shrilly; “it’s only men that gives blows for kindness!”

“Land of the living!” cried Silas, as a step sounded on the floor, and a queer figure came slowly into the glare of light by the lantern, a figure that had a Rembrandt effect in the shadow--an old man, lean and tall, shrouded in a long coat and bearing on his back a heavy basket.

“You can’t be a human creetur, comin’ here to-night,” said Maria; “mebbe you’re the Santy Claus Jim used to tell on as the boys told him; no man in his senses would come to Sile Lowell’s fur shelter.”

“M’ri’s upsot,” said Silas meekly, taking the lantern with trembling hand; “I guess you’ve got off the road; the tavern’s two mile down toward the river.”

“You’ve followed the right road,” said Maria; “you’ve come at a day of reck’nin’; everythin’ in the house, the best, you shall have.”

She snatched the light from Silas and slammed the barn door, leaving Tige contentedly champing his oats, wondering if he was still dreaming, and if his wild swim had been a nightmare followed by a vision of plenty. In the kitchen Maria filled the stove, lit two lamps and began making new tea.

“Thet was a good strong drorin’ we hed fur supper, M’ri,” said Silas, plaintively, keenly conscious of previous economies; “’pears to me you don’t need no new.” She paid no heed to him, but set the table with the best dishes, the preserves--Silas noted with a groan--and then with quick, skillful hand began cutting generous slices of ham.

“I hope you’re hungry, sir?” she asked eagerly.

“Wal, I be, marm,” said the stranger; “an’ if it ain’t no trouble, I’ll set this ere basket nigh the stove, there’s things in it as will spile. I be consederable hungry, ain’t eat a bite sence yesterd’y.”

Silas’s face grew longer and longer; he looked at the hamper hopefully. That might contain a peddler’s outfit and “M’ri” could get paid that way.

“An’ I hain’t money nor nawthin’ to pay fur my vittles ’less there was wood-sawin’ to be done.”

“Wood’s all sawed,” said Silas bitterly.

“I wouldn’t take a cent,” went on Maria, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Ann Kirk thet hed the name of bein’ as mean as me, was berried to day, and folks that keered nawthin’ fur her is a goin’ to hev her money an’ make it fly. They say ’round here no grass will ever grow on her grave, fur ev’ry blade will be blarsted by the curses of the poor.”

“M’ri, you a perfessed Christian!” cried Silas.

“There’s good folks unperfessed,” interposed the stranger; “but I dunno but a near Christian is better nor a spendthrift one as fetches up at the poorhouse.”

“Right you air!” said Silas, almost affably feeling he had an advocate.

The stranger was tall and bony, with a thin, wrinkled face bronzed by wind and weather, with a goatee and mustache of pale brown hair, and a sparse growth of the same above a high bald forehead; his eyes were a faded brown, too, and curiously wistful in expression. His clothing was worn and poor, his hands work-hardened, and he stooped slightly. When the meal was ready he drew up to the table, Maria plying him with food.

“Would you rather have coffee?” she asked.

“Now you’ve got me, marm, but land! tea’ll do.”

“I should think it would,” snarled Silas; but his grumbling was silenced in the grinding of the coffee mill. When the appetizing odor floated from the stove, Silas sniffed it, and his stomach began to yearn. “You put in a solid cup full,” he muttered, trying to worry himself into refusing it.

“We want a lot,” laughed Maria.

“Set up an’ eat,” called the stranger cheerily; “let’s make a banquet; it’s Chrismus Eve!”

“That ham do smell powerful good,” muttered Silas, unconsciously drawing his chair up to the table, where the stranger handed him a plate and passed the ham. Maria went on frying eggs, as if, thought her husband, “they warn’t twenty-five cents a dozen,” and then ran down into the cellar, returning panting and good-humored with a pan of apples and a jug of cider; then into the pantry, bringing a tin box out of which she took a cake.

“That’s pound cake, M’ri,” cried Silas, aghast, holding his knife and fork upraised in mute horror. She went on cutting thick slices, humming under her breath.

“Might I, marm,” asked the stranger, pleasantly, “put this slice of ham and cake and this cup of milk aside, to eat bymeby?”

“How many meals do you eat in a evening?” growled Silas, awestruck at such an appetite; “an’ I want you to know this ain’t no tavern.”

“Do eat a bite yourself, marm,” said the stranger, as Maria carried the filled plate to the cupboard. The impudence of a tramp actually asking the mistress of the house to eat her own food, thought Silas. “We’ve eat our supper,” he hurled at the stranger.

“I couldn’t tech a mite,” said Maria, beginning to clear up, and as he was through eating, the stranger gallantly helped her while Silas smoked in speechless rage.

“I’m used to being handy,” explained the tramp. “I allus helped wife. She’s bin dead these twenty years, leaving me a baby girl that I brought up.”

“You was good to her?” asked Maria wistfully; the stranger had such a kind voice and gentle ways.

“I done the best I could, marm.”

Doubting his senses, Silas saw Maria bring out the haircloth rocking-chair with the bead tidy from the best front room.

“Lemme carry it,” said the tramp politely. “Now set in’t yerself, marm, an’ be comfurble.” He took a wooden chair, tilted it back and picked up the cat. Maria, before she sat down, unmindful of Silas’s bewildered stare, filled one of his pipes with his tobacco.

“I know you smoke, mister,” she smiled.

“Wal, I do,” answered the tramp, whiffing away in great comfort. “’Pears to me you’re the biggest-hearted woman I ever see.”

She laughed bitterly. “There wan’t a cluser woman in Corinth than me, an’ folks’ll tell you so. I turned my own son outer doors.”

“It was part my fault, M’ri, an’ you hush now,” pleaded Silas, forgiving even her giving his tobacco away if she would not bring out that family skeleton.

“I’ve heered you was cluse,” said the stranger, “an’ thet you sent Jim off because he went to circuses in Bath, an’ wore store clothes, an’ wanted wages to pay for ’em.”

“All true,” said Maria, “an’ he wanted to ride the horse, an’ was mad at workin’ him so hard.” She went on then, and told how the old animal had come home.

“An’ me thinkin’ the critter was a speerit,” said the stranger in a hushed voice. “Beat’s all what a dumb brute knows!”

“I thought mebbe,” went on Maria, twisting her thin fingers, “as Jim might be comin’ home this time. They says things happens curious when folks is goin’ ter die--”

“Your good fur a good meny years, M’ri,” said Silas, pitifully.

“There’s folks in this wurld,” said the stranger, his kindly face growing sad and careworn since the mother’s eager words, “that ain’t mean enuff, an’ comes to charity to the end--”

“That there be,” assented Silas.

“And as can’t bring up their folks comfurble, nor keep ’em well an’ happy, nor have a home as ain’t berried under a mortgage they can’t never clear off.”

“Ay, there’s lots of ’em,” cried Silas, “an’ Mis Lowell was a twitting me this very night of bein’ mean.”

“An’ this good home, an’ the fields I passed thro’, an’ the lane where the old hoss come a gallopin’ up behind me, is paid fur, no mortgage on a acre?”

“There never was on the Lowell prop’ty; they’ll tell ye thet ennywhere,” said Silas.

“We uns in the South, where I come from,” said the stranger, shading his face with his bony hand, “ain’t never fore-handed somehow. My name is Dexter Brown, marm, an’ I was allus misfortinat. I tell you, marm, one day when my creditors come an’ took the cotton off my field, thet I’d plarnted and weeded and worked over in the brilin’ sun, my wife says--an’ she’d been patient and long-sufferin’--‘Dex, I’m tired out; jest you bury me in a bit of ground that’s paid fur, an’ I’ll lie in peace,’ an’ she died thet night.”

“Mebbe she never knowed what it were to scrimp an’ save, an’ do without, an’ never see nawthin’, till all the good died in her,” muttered Maria.

“Part o’ my debt was wines an’ good vittles fur her, marm.”

“I’ll warrant!” said Maria quickly, “an’ she never wept over the graves of her dead children, an’ heered their father complainin’ of how much their sickness hed cost him. Oh, I tell you, there’s them that reckons human agony by dollars an’ cents, an’ they’re wus’n murderers!”

“M’ri!” cried Silas.

“Mebbe, marm, you are over-worrited ternight,” said the stranger softly; “wimmen is all feelin’, God bless ’em! an’ how yer son loved ye, a tellin’ of yer bright eyes an’ red cheeks--”

She turned to him with fierce eagerness. “He couldn’t keer fur me, I wan’t the kind. I don’t mind me of hardly ever kissin’ him. I worked him hard; I was cross an’ stingy. He sed to me, ‘There’s houses that is never homes, mother.’ I sneered an’ blamed him for his little present.” She ran and brought the vase. “I’ve kept that, Mr. Brown, over twenty years, but when he give it to me, bought outer his poor little savin’s, I scolded him. I never let him hev the boys here to pop corn or make candy; it was waste and litter. Oh, I know what he meant; this was never a home.”

“But he only spoke kind of ye allus.”

“Did you know Jim? Been gone this ten year, an’ never a word.”

Silas, a queer shadow on his face, looked eagerly at Brown.

“I did know him,” slowly and cautiously--“he was a cowboy in Texas, as brave as the best.”

“He could ride,” cried Maria, “as part of a horse, an’ Tige was the dead image of that Washington horse in the pictur, an’ Jim used to say thet girl there in the blue gown was his girl--the one with the bouquet; an’ I used to call him silly. I chilled all the fun he hed outer him, an’ broken-speerited an’ white-faced he drifted away from us, as far away as them in the graveyard, with the same weary look as they hed in goin’.”

“An’ he took keer of much as a hundred cattle,” said Silas; “they has thet meny I’ve heerd, in Texas?”

“They has thousands; they loses hundreds by drought--”

“Wanter know?” cried Silas, his imagination refusing to grasp such awful loss.

“Wal, I knowed Jim, an’ he got merried--”

“Merried!” from both the old parents.

“He did. He says, ‘I wunt write the home-folks till I’m well off, for mother will worrit an’ blame me, an’ I hain’t money, but Minnie an’ I love each other, an’ are satisfied with little.’”

“Minnie,” the mother repeated. “Was she pretty?”

“Woman all over you be, to ask thet, an’ she was,” said Brown, sadly “with dark eyes, sorter wistful, an’ hair like crinkled sunshine, an’ a laugh like a merry child, fur trouble slipped off her shoulders like water off a duck’s back.”

“An’ they got prosperous?” asked Silas uneasily.

“They was happy,” said Brown with gentle dignity; “they was allus happy, but they lived under a mortgage, an’ it was drift from pillar to post, an’ ups an’ downs.”

“An’ they’re poor now,” muttered Silas, visions of Jim and his family to support coming to him.

“Hush!” cried Maria. “Tell me, sir, was there children? Oh, the heart hunger I’ve had for the sound of a child’s voice, the touch of baby hands. You an’ me grandpa and grandma, Sile! an’, my God! you think of money now.”

“Set calm,” pleaded Brown, “for I must hev courage to tell ye all.”

“An’ they sent ye to tell us they was comin’?” asked Silas, judging of their prosperity from the shabby herald.

“They asked me to come, an’ I swore it. There’s a queer blight as creeps inter our country, which without thet might be like everlasting Paradise. Ourn is a land of summer an’ flowers, but up here in this ice-bound region, the air is like water in runnin’ brooks, it puts life an’ health in ye.”

“There’s the blight o’ consumption here. We’re foreordained to suffer all over this airth,” muttered the woman.

“But there it comes in waves of trouble--in awful haste--an’ takes all at once, an’ them that’s well flees away and the sick dies alone. So the yellow fever come creepin’ inter my home, fur Minnie was my child--the daughter I’d keered fur; an’ fust the baby went from her arms, an’ then little Silas (arter you, sir). Then Minnie sickened, an’ her laugh is only an echo in my heart, for she died and was berried, the baby in her arms, and Jim was took next--an’ he says” (only the ticking of the clock sounded now, never so loud before): “‘I want you, dad,’ (he called me dad) ‘to go to my old home in Maine. I want you to tell my father I named my dead boy for him, and I thought of his frugal, saving life with pain, and yet I am proud that his name is respected as that of an honest man, whose word is his bond. I’ll never go up the old lane again,’ says Jim, ‘nor see mother standing in the door with her bright eyes and red cheeks that I used to think was like winter apples. And the old horse, she said she’d care for, I won’t see him again, nor hear the bells. In this land of summer I only long for winter, and dad, if I could hear those hoarse old jolly bells I’d die in peace. Queer, ain’t it? And I remember some rides I took mother; she wan’t afraid of the colt, and looked so pretty, a white hood over her dark hair. You go, dad, and say I was sorry, and I’d planned to come some day prosperous and happy, but it’s never to be. Tell mother to think of me when she goes a Sunday afternoon to the buryin’-ground, as she used to with me, and by those little graves I felt her mother’s heart beat for me, her living child, and I knew, though she said nothing, she cared for me.’ He died tellin’ me this, marm, an’ was berried by my girl, an’ I think it was meant kind they went together, for both would a pined apart. So I’ve come all the way from Texas, trampin’ for weary months, for I was poor, to give you Jim’s words.”

“Dead! Jim dead!” cried Silas, in a queer, dazed way. “M’ri,” querulously, “you allus sed he was so helthy!”

She went to him and laid her hand on his bowed head.

“An’ we’ve saved an’ scrimped an’ pinched fur strangers, M’ri, fur there ain’t no Lowell to have the prop’ty, an’ I meant it all fur Jim. When he was to come back he’d find he was prosperous, an’ he’d think how I tried to make him so.”

“The Lord don’t mean all dark clouds in this life,” said the stranger. “Out of that pestilence, that never touched her with its foul breath, came a child, with Minnie’s face and laugh, but Jim’s own eyes--a bit of mother an’ father.”

The old people were looking at him with painful eagerness, dwelling on his every word.

“It was little May; named Maria, but we called her May for she was borned three year ago in that month; a tiny wee thing, an’ I stood by their graves an’ I hardened my heart. ‘They drove her father out; they sha’n’t crush her young life,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep her.’ But I knowed I couldn’t. Poverty was grinding me, and with Jim’s words directin’ me, I brought her here.”

“Brought her here!” cried the poor woman.

“Ay! She’s a brave little lass, an’ I told her to lie quiet in the basket till I told her to come out, fur mebbe you wan’t kind an’ would send us both out, but I found your hearts ready fur her--”

With one spring Maria reached the basket and flung open the lid, disclosing a tiny child wrapped in a ragged shawl, sleeping peacefully in her cramped bed, but with tears on her long lashes, as if the waiting had tried her brave little soul.

“Jest as gritty,” said Brown, “an’ so good to mind; poor lass!”

Maria lifted her out, and the child woke up, but did not cry at the strange face that smiled on her with such pathetic eagerness. “Oh, the kitty!” cried May. “I had a kitty once!” That familiar household object reconciled her at once. She ate the cake eagerly and drank the milk, insisting on feeding the ham to the cat.

“Him looks hungy,” she said.

“We’ve all been starved!” cried Maria, clasping the child to her heart.

Such a beautiful child, with her merry eyes and laugh and her golden curls, a strange blossom from a New England soil, yet part of her birthright was the land of flowers and sunshine. Somehow that pathetic picture of the past faded when the mother saw a blue and gilt vase in the baby’s hand--Jim’s baby’s.

“It’s pitty; fank you!” said the little creature. Then she got down to show her new dress and her shoes, and made excursions into the pantry, opening cupboard doors, but touching nothing, only exclaiming, “Dear me, how pitty!” at everything. Then she came back, and at Brown’s request, with intense gravity, began a Spanish dance she had learned when they stopped at San Antonio, from watching the Mexican senoritas. She held up her little gown on one side and gravely made her steps while Dexter whistled. The fire leaped up and crackled loudly, as if it would join her, the cat purred, the tea-kettle sung from the back of the stove, and little snowflakes, themselves hurrying, skurrying in a merry dance, clung to the window-pane and called other little flakes to hasten and see such a pretty sight. Maria watched in breathless eagerness, and Silas, carried beyond himself, forgetting his scruples, cried out:

“Wal, ef that don’t beat all I ever see! Come here, you little chick!” holding out his silver watch.

With a final pirouette she finished with a grave little courtesy, then ran to Silas: “Is there birdie in der?” and he caught her up and kissed her.

* * * * *

When the old lane is shady in summertime, and golden-rod and daisies crowd the way, and raspberries climb the stone-wall, and merry squirrels chatter and mock the red-breasted robins, and bees go humming through the odorous air, there comes a big white horse that looks like Washington’s in the picture; and how carefully he walks and bears himself, for he brings a little princess who has made the old house a home. Such a fairy-like little thing, who from her sunshine makes everybody bright and happy, and Silas’s grim old face is smiling as he leads the horse, and Maria, with her basket of berries, is helped over the wall by Dexter Brown, who always says he must go but never does, for they love him, and he and Silas work harmoniously together. And grandma’s eyes are brighter than ever and her cheeks as red.

“What comfortable folks they air gittin’ to be,” say the neighbors, “kinder livin’, but I dunno but goin’ a berryin’ a hull arternoon is right down shiftless.”

Winter is over and forever gone from that household on the hill; the coming of gracious, smiling spring in a sweet child’s presence has made eternal sunshine in those ice-bound hearts.

HINTS TO FOOTBALL CAPTAINS.

BY WALTER C. CAMP.

Much has been written from time to time of the growth of the game of football, and the reasons for its popularity, but no one has described that which is the real secret of its fascination; viz., planning the campaign. Planning a football campaign is a most interesting piece of strategic work, and the amount of thought expended on it would astonish the majority of that eager audience which crowds the Polo Grounds on Thanksgiving Day.

“Get some of your old men back to coach,” is a bit of advice often given to captains of crews and ball nines. But to no one is it so invaluable as to football captains. It is the careful planning of the season’s work that will bring victory in November. Through the summer the captain has been counting over the material he will have as a nucleus in the fall, and he has also calculated about how much he can rely upon from preparatory schools. As a rule he treats with distrust all reports of wonderful men in the incoming class, for the players who may have been giants on school teams are generally lost in the crowd on a university field.

His first interest on looking over the men he means to make use of is this: Are there enough old men to steady the team? With five old men no captain should be discouraged, and with six or over he ought to be hopeful, provided he has a half-back and a quarter among them. The reason for this is that he can then arrange to have a veteran next to every novice in his team, by scattering the three old rushers. It is amazing what steadiness can be infused into a team in this way. If the captain has six instead of five, he can then strengthen the weak side of his team by putting an old hand as an end-rusher on the side of the green half-back.

This plan of formation is merely for the early weeks of the season until the real campaign can be laid out. The veterans act as coaches to the new men, and after ten or fifteen days of playing in this way, the novices, if they be at all promising men, will have learned the general system of play, for the positions in which they stand. That is, the rushers will have learned not to bunch, _i. e._, keep too close to the next man, and also not to lag, or be slow in lining up when the ball is down. They will have been repeatedly cautioned against tackling high and not getting through hard. A new half will have learned about how far back he ought to stand, and how quickly he has to kick. In this way the captain can accomplish a double amount of work, for while he is looking over his new material, and deciding upon what men will develop into the service, his old players are giving very efficient assistance to him by coaching the new ones and rapidly breaking them in. Were it not for this, things would be in almost as much of a mess after ten days’ playing as at the start, for it frequently happens that a green captain will make so little use of his old men in the way of coaching that the new men will be blundering on in the middle of the season full of faults which might have been stopped the first week.

Two weeks’ work will enable the captain to select about sixteen men from whom he sees his team must be drawn. If he is wise he will be inclined at this period to favor those men who are showing rapid improvement rather than those whom he knows have already reached their best days. He will also put some thought upon the general weight of his team as well as the probable weight of the other teams he must meet.

When he has considered these matters well, and made up in his own mind the strongest team he can select, he should play these men together as nearly as possible for some three or four days, and after making any changes that may seem to him necessary, get his coaches together and stand with them for one afternoon, when all will have a good look at the practice. That evening he should have a meeting of the team and coaches, and a thorough discussion of the strength and weakness of the team. One learns very rapidly at such a meeting what the team considers its strong points and where they fear an enemy. During the next week the captain and coaches should decide finally upon what the strongest plays of the team are likely to be. The great necessity of doing this early is to thoroughly provide against accident, not only by being more than usually careful of the one or two men most engaged in these plays, but also to train others up to a moderate degree of skillfulness to take the places of men who may be injured. A decision must also be reached regarding the weak points of the team, and these not only strengthened but made less evident to opponents.

Following upon these decisions should come a week or more of very hard individual coaching. Each man is taken by himself and worked at as though upon him and his particular plays depended the victory or defeat of the team. A curious fact is that just at this point in the season, not only the team, but very often the captain and coaches are sure that their playing is poor and that defeat stares them in the face. The true explanation of this is that the enthusiasm has been worked off to a great extent, and the players have not yet gained the dexterity that practice will give, so that the poor playing is really painfully apparent.

Let us review the plan of the campaign up to this point. The captain first sprinkled his veterans among the raw recruits, so that it was necessary for them to mingle. By doing this he has prevented the old men from banding together and looking down upon the new ones, and has also compelled the green men to ask questions of the experts. While all were thus being well shaken together, he has had an opportunity to select the best team, and, by actual trial, to judge in what line of action they would prove strongest. All this has been effected with the least possible loss of time, for, owing to the shortness of the football season, time is too valuable to be wasted even in experiments. Of individual coaching, little need be said, as it is only a means of improving details, and does not affect the campaign, except in the way of dexterity.

The captain next begins to study the best offensive and defensive tactics for his team. He starts with the problem in such shape as this: Given the kick-off with an adverse wind, what is the best opening for the style of game his team plays? He may kick the ball as far down the field as possible. But this is very seldom a good opening, because the side that wins the toss, having the choice of goal or kick-off, it invariably happens that the kick-off is made against the wind. The captain knows that if he makes a straight kick down the field under these circumstances it will be returned, and with the help of the wind, will most surely be put back some distance into his own territory, so that the play will have lost him considerable ground.

The next thing to be considered is a long kick down the field and out of bounds on the side. This opening was a strong feature of the Yale game for several years, owing to the combination of two happy possessions--a strong place-kicker and a very fast end-rusher. The play usually means that the ball, when it goes into touch, is first reached by the opponents and they return it into the field at the point where it went out. Of course, the ball has made considerable advance into the enemy’s territory; but as an offset to this, they have gained possession of the ball, and, if their play is strong and accurate, they should be able to return it past the center of the field on their first kick. While the above is the usual result of the play, it does happen that a fast end-rusher, in perfect unanimity with the place-kicker, will succeed in reaching the ball before the opponents. In this case there is an actual gain of the distance from the centre of the field to the spot where the ball crossed the touchline. Another opening is to dribble the ball and then pass it back for the half to punt. This gives the rushers a chance to get up the field and prevent a return kick. In this case, unless the ball is fumbled, there is only an apparent gain, for the ball is in the possession of the enemy and after the down will be returned probably beyond the centre of the field.

The opening most popular during the past season was the “running break” or “V.” The ball was dribbled and passed back to a half who was protected by the rushers enough to insure his having a fair start. He then made a break for the opening in the line and carried the ball as far as he could. The amount of interference allowed last year made this a strong opening, because the player usually made several yards, and that without losing the ball.

From this point on, however, comes the real strategy of the game. An illustration of this is the statement made and carried out by one of the coaches of a team which competed one Thanksgiving Day, not many years ago. After a conference with the captain and other coaches the night before the game, he made the astonishing statement that his team would, if they lost the toss, put the ball over the enemy’s goal-line in less than five minutes from the time of kick-off. The diagram of the plans was laid out on paper, and is still in the possession of one of the men. The plays were these: The ball was dribbled and passed by a long throw to the right half-back, whose run was made successfully. The ball was snapped and passed to the rusher next the end on the same side. This play was strong, because the position of the men and the throw of the quarter made it appear that the ball was again going to the half, and the opposing rushers went through the more eagerly. The next play was a centre-play--the guard giving the ball to the quarter for a run, and the final play, which carried the ball over the line, was out next the end once more. The immense superiority of such a system over the usual method of sending the ball wherever there seems the most chance was conclusively proven, for, with the exception of a slight fumble, which caused one more down, there was no break in the chain, and each man made within a few yards of the spot which had been marked on the paper.

While it is, of course, impossible to lay out the entire progress of the game, owing to the element of uncertainty introduced by ignorance of what line of action may be adopted by one’s opponents, it is possible to plan what ought to be done at certain stages in the game.

For instance, for many years it was thoroughly believed by all the best football men that the kicking game could not be played against the wind under even the most favorable circumstances. This theory has, however, fallen through, and it is generally concluded that with fast, good rushers, and strong, accurate kickers, the running game can with advantage be supplemented with a few timely kicks.

The opening of the game has been discussed; the next point is the placing of the men on the first down by the opponents. This is something of vital interest to the captain, for if the opponents have any strong line of play they will undoubtedly develop it early in the game. To discover and prevent the surprise is, therefore, the end to be aimed at, for a strong play successfully made at this point seriously weakens the adversaries, not only taking from them the actual ground, but upsetting their confidence and nerve as well.

Upon the use of the quarter depends the style of this first defensive play. Some captains keep him back of the line where he may assist the half-backs; others send him up into the line as an extra rusher. Neither of these two plans can be said to be the right one in all cases, for there are two elements which govern the play and should enter into the decision. The first is the relative skill of the rushers and halves. It is always possible for a captain to say whether he is strongest “in the line” or “behind it,” and the quarter is most needed with the weaker set of players. The second is the wind. If this is very strong and straight with the opponents, there is the greatest necessity of checking their running before they shall have advanced the ball within kicking distance of the goal, even though by doing this the captain for the time being leaves his halves and back less secure. Therefore the wise captain brings up his quarter into or just behind the rush line, and concentrates all his strength on preventing the gain of five yards on three downs. In this way he can oblige his opponents to kick or lose the ball before they are far enough advanced to be in dangerous proximity to his goal. Of these two elements, then, it may be conclusively argued the wind is the greater, and if very strong, should decide him to bring his quarter up, even though his line of forwards be exceptionally strong.

The next point worthy of consideration is the offensive and defensive play about the goals. Most important are: _guarding a goal against the wind_, and _trying for a goal with the wind_. The former is of the most vital importance, and time spent upon studying the situation will prove of advantage to every captain. Let us suppose the case of a touch-back (_i. e._, where the ball has crossed the goal-line, but without compelling a safety), for it is generally at this point that the condition becomes most serious. The captain finds himself driven back into his own goal and facing a wind and a team encouraged by success. His own team, on the contrary, are tired with the effort of contesting the ground, and they are also nervous with the feeling that the least slip on their part means a goal or a touch-down. The privilege of a kick-out--at best a privilege of less than twenty-five yards start--seems pitifully small in the face of the odds. The situation is the same as at the kick-off upon beginning, with the exception of the proximity of the goal and the attendant danger. The ball may be place-kicked or drop-kicked down the field or out of bounds; it may be dribbled and passed back for a punt or run. There is one thing which must not be done, and that is to kick or pass the ball out toward the centre of the field or across the goal, for as surely as the ball falls into the enemy’s hands in front of the goal, they will, if their play be accurate, not fail to score. Next to be borne in mind is that when the ball does go into their hands it must be either a down or a fair, _i. e._, it must not be a fair catch, but must go out of bounds, or into their hands on the roll with a rusher close enough to make them have it down. There are three ways to accomplish this: the first is to place or drop-kick the ball down the edge of the field and out of bounds, or accomplish the same result by a dribble and punt; the second is to attempt the running game until two downs are exhausted, and then kick out of bounds; and the third, and most aggressive of all, to kick the ball a short distance ahead but well up in the air, and putting all the men on side, rely upon getting possession of the ball in air or in the scramble as it falls. If the last plan is adopted every man in the line must go forward with one idea in his mind, and that is to prevent a fair catch at all hazards.

Another question is often discussed regarding the protection of a goal, and that is: Is a man ever justified in running round behind his own goal with the ball on the chance of getting out far enough on the other side to gain ground? The only answer to this question lies in the head of the man who has to do it. There are some who can be trusted to know when it can be done, but most should be told to never do it unless at that point in the game a safety will turn the balance of the score, and they should not do it in the first half.

But to pass to the attack. A side has advanced the ball within kicking distance of their opponents’ goal, having the wind and the ball with them. Should they at once attempt a field-kick, or by running try to get nearer, or even rely upon a touch-down? If they try a field-kick, should it be a drop at goal, or should they punt the ball just short of the goal and chance a muff or a fumble by their adversaries to yield a touch-down? Unless a team is remarkably strong in the running game, and has been making their five yards, it is silly to try a touch-down or nothing. Again, unless there is plenty of time remaining, it takes too long to work the ball up to the line and get it across, beside the many risks of losing possession of it in the meantime. Finally, a punt up in front of the goal is too decidedly a confession of the lack of a good drop-kicker.

As a rule, then, the first down had better be utilized by getting the ball in front of the goal if it is off at the side of the field. The second down should be an attempt to get somewhat nearer only in case the snap-back and quarter are sure men. Otherwise the drop-kick should be tried after the first down. One thing to be said in favor of trying the drop-kick at once, without attempting to bring the ball in front of the goal, is that the adversaries are then much less prepared for the try, and hence the kicker has a more uninterrupted aim and longer time. After the first down the opponents concentrate their attention more upon the kicker.

These are salient features, but, of course, there is an infinity of detail, of which the present article does not give space to speak.

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

THE NATIONAL HORSE SHOW.

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good;” and let the press, comic and otherwise, deride anglomania as it may, the good effects of this same craze are plainly visible in some directions. Since Richard Ten Broeck won the Cesarewitch Stakes with Prioress in 1857, since the victories of Foxhall and Iroquois, no one has doubted that the race-horses of America are in every respect equal to the English standard. But the same can scarcely have been said of the carriage-horses, hacks, cobs, and ponies, while until a comparatively recent date the hunter, in the English acceptation of the term, was unknown. The rankest “_laudator temporis acti_,” who took a stroll in Madison Square Garden during the horse-show week, would not venture to deplore “the good old days” as far as horseflesh is concerned. The prevalence of the “bang” tail and hog mane may offend the eye of some, and when such treatment is carried out on an elephantine dray-horse--as was the case with some of the exhibits--the result is truly absurd. But the sporting, capable class of horse with the best of action, which was so well represented--more so than in any previous year--must of necessity have favorably impressed the true disciple of horseflesh.

The exhibition was very good--in some cases extremely so--and in a rising scale from Mr. Pierre Lorillard’s happy family of Shetlands up to Mr. A. Palmer Morewood’s colossal Clydesdale “Marlborough,” there were shapes and sizes to please every eye. From East, West, North, and South they came to constitute this goodly array, and in some cases laurels gained in English show rings were supplemented with American honors.

In the high-jumping, however, as in former years, lay the special feature of the show. When it is possible for _green_ hunters--save the mark!--to be put to jump 6 ft. 6 in., even though it prove somewhat beyond their powers, it may well make even old horsemen open their eyes, and wonder where this emulation will stop. Such feats have never been accomplished or indeed attempted in England, but in the New York Show the standard rises year by year, and the record, unlike that of trotting, is all the time being broken. The jump of 6 ft. 9⅞ in., accomplished by Mr. F. Gebhardt’s “Leo,” ridden by “Pete” Smith, the only man who can induce this wonderful horse to put forth his powers, and Messrs. Durland & Co.’s “Filemaker,” ridden by that graceful rider, Mr. McGibbon, is something which, unless one has seen it done, he receives with doubting ears. The riding and driving was very good. In the latter department, Mr. F. Asshenden, as usual, distinguished himself. He drove in every competition which enters into his province, with such success that only on one occasion did he leave the ring without a “ribbon.”

The management of the show was very well conducted, and with the exception of some complaints of dampness--which was attributable to Jupiter Pluvius and not to the management--there were no grounds for objection. The health of the horses was excellent, the veterinary department under Drs. Carmody and Field left nothing to be desired, and the equine visitors left the Garden after their week’s sojourn in strange quarters in no way the worse for their experience.

~Sporting Tramp.~

* * * * *

PLAIN TALK ABOUT STEEPLE-CHASING.

For several years past the steeple-chase associations and hunt clubs have been making strenuous efforts to raise the cross-country branch of racing to its proper level. Five years ago steeple-chasing was a byword and a reproach. The scandalous and open swindles that took place at some of the large tracks were a disgrace, and the managers of these tracks sat with folded hands while the press exposed the swindles and urged them to do something or expunge altogether the cross-country farces from the programme, but nothing was done. The truth is the managers did not understand steeple-chasing, and would not learn, and yet it was too lucrative a branch to expunge, as the public enjoyed the excitement and liked to see the accidents and falls.

About four years ago the members of the Rockaway Hunt Club formed the Rockaway Steeple-chase Association, and with the Meadow Brook Hunt Club as well as members of all the other hunt clubs, joined in trying to raise the level of steeple-chasing. That they were successful is shown by the records. What the cost was to their private purses they themselves only know. It is hardly to the credit of the general public or to the society element in New York, that associations of this kind that provide honest and fair sport, should lose thousands at each meeting. Naturally the members object to this continual drain, and a change of some kind will have to be made. Neither the Rockaway Steeple-chase Association nor the Country Club Steeple-chase Association can continue running at a loss any longer.

It might be well, however, to analyze the reason for the loss. When in 1886, the future of racing in this State was jeopardized and politicians were endeavoring to stop the sport for purposes of their own, the leading men of both these associations cheerfully lent a helping hand and worked to get the Pool bill through. Their endeavors were successful. Racing was limited to the dates between May 15 and October 15. So far so good. Then came the question of the dates for the respective meetings, and the large associations at once seized all they could get. The principal sinner in this respect has been the Brooklyn Jockey Club, which has shown great precocity in its grabbing propensities during the short time it has been in existence. Not content with taking the days the Rockaway people wanted, the Brooklyns encroached on Jerome Park’s dates and wanted those also. The Country Club Association had to deal with Jerome, and found that association very fair and open about its dates. No attempt was made to “grab,” and every help was cheerfully given that could be. The weather, however, knocked out the Country Club Association, and also took a hand in marring the chances of the Rockaway, which, buffeted on all sides, lost money steadily. Now for the cure. The Steeple-chase Associations will have to reduce their meetings to the level of hunt races, _pur et simple_, with cups and very small money added--with perhaps one large handicap of $1,000 at most, and wait for better times. Another alternative is to induce the Legislature to alter the Pool bill in such a way that steeple-chasing may commence in New York State on May 1 and end on Nov. 1, thus giving the Association a month to hold their meetings. The third remedy would be to discontinue the meetings altogether, a course which would be very regrettable. The Rockaway people have an expensive plant at Cedarhurst, and the Country Club is making arrangements for something of the same kind. Some measures will have to be taken to protect their interests as well as those of the other hunting clubs.

~C. S. Pelham-Clinton.~

* * * * *

THE GAME OF LACROSSE.

The season which closed November 1 has not been so productive of good results as those interested in the success of Canada’s national game anticipated. Certain innovations, which were introduced last spring and promised well, have proved to be impracticable. Then, again, the splitting of the old National Association into two minor leagues has not brought about closer relationship between the clubs. Not one of the New England clubs has signified its intention of joining the Eastern Association. A local championship series and a few games with outside clubs have satisfied them.

The Western Association, and its doings during the first season of its existence, remain unknown to the lacrosse men in the East. For some reason efforts to bring about cordial relations between the two sections of the country have failed. The Western men appear to think that enough deference is not paid them on account of their possession of the National Championship, which was gained, not on the field, but on paper.

The Brooklyn Club will have the honor of being the champion club until 1889. It has made astonishing strides forward. Faithful practice and attention to team-play has made it a strong organization. The Staten Island Club, on the other hand, may safely be relied upon making every effort next spring to regain the coveted honor which so long was theirs.

The other clubs in the Eastern Association--Philadelphia, Baltimore, Jersey City, Staten Island Cricket Club--have not done much during the summer, except to build up their organizations. There is every indication, however, that the season of 1889 will witness some exciting games.

That nothing encourages so much as success, is seen in the vigor and enthusiasm with which Princeton, the champion of the College League, has gone to work since the opening of college. Usually the lacrosse men do very little in the fall in the way of practice. But this year, intent upon again winning the championship in 1889, class games have been played, and the University team has also had several games with outside clubs. This has not escaped Harvard, her most dangerous rival. The _Crimson_ has repeatedly called upon the college to give better support to the lacrosse team, which has at times been almost the only one to bring back a championship. In the spring the time is too limited to get the men into first-class condition, and fall and winter work should be indulged in when possible.

Lehigh is thoroughly delighted with lacrosse, and Cornell is taking it up. Williams is considering whether it will not draw too many men from the other sports, and other colleges and schools are getting ready to introduce the game. This is very gratifying. To play the game well requires so much attention to training, and such thorough self-command, that, as a mere matter of discipline, it ought to be recommended; besides, no game is more exciting, and certainly none more graceful.

~J. C. Gerndt.~

* * * * *

RABBIT COURSING.

For every man who owns a greyhound, at least a dozen own some kind of a terrier. The terrier is essentially man’s companion among all the dogs. Bright, intelligent, and full of spirits, he also has the happy knack of knowing how to make his presence unobtrusive. Among the many breeds which have at the present day attained popularity, the fox-terrier is _facile princeps_, and of late years owners have bethought themselves of a good plan to avail themselves of the natural instinct of the dog. The fox-terrier is naturally possessed of a speed out of proportion to his looks, and since “the nature of the beast” is to pursue anything in the line of game or vermin, he has readily fallen in with man’s scheme to course the rabbit with his aid.

The advantages of this sport over coursing with greyhounds are many. The grounds have not to be so spacious or complete; the dogs are not so expensive, either in initial cost, maintenance, or elaboration of training; impromptu matches can be easily arranged, and, especially in this country, the difficulty of supplying the requisite quarry for greyhounds is obviated. The rabbit, on the contrary, is fairly plentiful in the Eastern States, and a goodly supply of them is generally forthcoming. The meetings that have hitherto been held have been very successful, and it is a cause of great satisfaction to all sportsmen that the recent case at Hempstead reached such a favorable termination.

This sport has not as yet, in America, gone beyond the limits of the select circle which patronizes polo and fox-hunting; but no real reason exists why this should be so. The writer has witnessed and taken part in very successful impromptu coursing-matches in the South, where the intentions of the dogs were better than their looks or breeding. It is, in fact, a sport open to every man who owns a decent terrier, and as such it is regarded in many parts of England, where the farmers will not only allow but will take part in matches run over their land.

~Sporting Tramp.~

[Illustration: ~The Outing Club.~]

THE DISSENSION IN THE ATHLETIC WORLD.

Some time since ~Outing~ entered into communication with the various gentlemen who are taking leading parts in the serious disruption which has shaken the athletic world of America to its very centre. For some reason best known to those addressed, the majority of these gentlemen have not seen fit to favor us with their views on the situation. We have, however, been placed in a position to give the public some extracts from what appears to us to be an impartial review of the facts, from the Union’s side of the question. We quote as follows:

“In 1879 the New York Athletic Club decided to give up the management of the Amateur Championship Meeting, so successfully established by it three years previously. This course was taken because it brought a great deal of additional work on the officers of the club, and although the games had been profitable to the organization, its officers no longer desired to be continually appealed to for decisions and rulings upon athletic matters. For these reasons the N. Y. A. C. was willing to relinquish the conduct of the championship games to properly organized associations of clubs.”

Thus it came about that in the spring of 1879 the National Association of Amateur Athletes of America was organized. In 1880 we find the list of clubs that were members numbered twenty-one. In 1885 we find that this number had sunk to twelve, and in 1887 it was still twelve, while the New York Athletic Club, “through some personal club trouble,” had resigned in 1885.

“With these facts before us it can readily be seen that although the Association may have been, and no doubt was, national some years ago, it failed to keep pace with many of the leading clubs during the past three or four years. Some of these, notably the New York and Staten Island Athletic clubs, made such rapid strides that not only were meetings given that were far superior to the championships, but also many championship of America events were given by them and at their expense, among them being the boxing, wrestling, swimming, general gymnastic, general athletic, etc.

“In 1887 the Athletic Club of the Schuylkill Navy started the Amateur Athletic Union of the U. S.” The why and wherefore of its inception is thus accounted for. “The first time the A. C. S. N. participated in any other athletic competition than those held under its own management was in February, 1886, when a number of entries were made in the championship boxing and wrestling tournament given under the auspices of the New York Athletic Club, at Tammany Hall, New York. Of the three representatives of the A. C. S. N. at this competition, one, Mr. Charles A. Clark, won the championship at feather-weight boxing, and another, Dr. J. K. Shell, was fortunate enough to meet Joe Ellingsworth in the middle-weight boxing class; the latter, it was learned just in time to enter a protest, was so tainted with professionalism as to render his presence at an amateur competition preposterous. The protest against Ellingsworth was made by Captain Huneker of the A. C. S. N. to the New York Athletic Club, by whom he was referred to the National Association of Amateur Athletes of America for a decision as to Ellingsworth’s standing. The latter association refused to take any

## action, claiming that they had no jurisdiction in the matter.

“The inconsistent part of the National Association’s action in this matter is the fact of its having refused to take any action in this instance and claiming that it had no jurisdiction, while many will undoubtedly remember that sufficient jurisdiction was claimed in the cases of the wrestlers who were disqualified about six months previous for competing at unapproved meetings.

“From the time of this occurrence dates the desire of the A. C. S. N. to see formed an association national in character, which would take cognizance of and exercise jurisdiction over all kinds and classes of athletic sports over which no recognized association already in existence, exercised special authority. This, together with the sincere wishes of the club to contribute by every means within their power to an effort to exclude from the amateur ranks the semi-professional, ‘tough’ and ‘shady’ element which has proved so great a detriment to the natural growth and popularity of all true amateur sport, dwarfed its possibilities and rendered competition in many of its classes obnoxious to gentlemen, are the reasons which mainly influenced the A. C. S. N. to request the New York Athletic Club, which organization was not a member of the National, to join in a call for a meeting of all the recognized amateur athletic organizations of the United States to consider the formation of a new association.

“The meeting of such a body and its outcome is a matter of athletic history. From this convention emanated the Amateur Athletic Union. From the inception of the Union the A. C. S. N. at once became prominent in its councils, one of its delegates, Mr. W. H. McMillan, being unanimously elected president of the new association.

“When the circular calling for a meeting of all the clubs to consider the formation of an association was received by the Staten Island A. C., a letter was at once sent to Mr. John F. Huneker, captain of the A. C. of the Schuykill Navy, inquiring what club was at the bottom of this move, and what were the ideas and reasons in forming such an organization. The reply, as received, was read to the Board of Directors, and, after satisfying themselves as to its honesty and advisability, a committee with power was appointed, consisting of President J. W. Edwards, Secretary W. C. Davis, Treasurer G. M. Mackellar, and Director F. W. Janssen.

“This entire committee attended the first meeting of the A. A. U. After carefully noting and satisfying themselves on every point, they unanimously decided to join; so the Staten Island A. C. at once became a member of the Union.

“Later on, the Union showed so many advantages over the National, and had so many respectable clubs in it, its affairs being conducted on so much better and more business-like principles, that after duly considering the case, the Staten Island A. C. sent its resignation to the National Association. When the Union selected September 19, 1888, at Detroit, as the date and place of their championship of America games, the National scheduled its similar meeting for September 15, 1888, at New York, and, in order to detract from the Detroit meeting, empowered the Missouri Athletic Club of St. Louis to hold a Western championship on its grounds September 9. The Union, to show its strength, at once authorized the Chicago Athletic Club to hold a Western championship meeting on its grounds September 1, in order to establish a set of Western champions for 1888 before the National meeting could be held.

“As time went by, the Union representatives considered the advisability of taking some final action in the matter, and, after some six weeks’ deliberation, at a meeting held August 25, 1888, unanimously passed the following resolution:

“‘Resolved, That any amateur athlete competing in any open amateur games in the United States not governed by rules approved by the Amateur Athletic Union, shall be debarred from competing in any games held under the rules of the Amateur Athletic Union. This resolution shall take effect immediately.’

“The idea was to have the Western clubs and athletes recognize but one championship meeting of the West (that of the A. A. U. at Chicago).

“The National (or rather now the Manhattan A. C.) found it impossible to hold its championship meeting in New York, owing to the fact that all the athletes, with very few exceptions outside the Manhattan Club, belonged to Union clubs, and would not compete under the National rules; so a cable was sent by the Manhattans to the Irish Gaelic Team to the effect that the meeting had been postponed until October 6 in order to allow them to compete.

“In the West the two championship meetings were held, and those athletes who took part at the St. Louis National meeting were debarred from competing at the Detroit Union games.

“The Union Board held a full meeting of the Executive Committee at Detroit, on September 18, 1888, when the above resolution was again unanimously approved of. The committee also unanimously refused to rescind the same or to reinstate any of the athletes who competed at the St. Louis National meeting.

“The so-called National meeting held in New York city, on October 13, 1888, was, with very few exceptions, between the teams of the Irish Gaelic Association and the Manhattan Athletic Club.

“At the Detroit meeting of the Union, a committee consisting of Otto Ruhl, James E. Sullivan, and Fred W. Janssen was appointed, with power to confer with Mr. Cullinan, the manager of the Irish team. To him, after explaining matters, the following proposition was made, on condition that his team should not recognize the National Association as an authorized body to give a championship of American meeting, viz.: The A. A. U. would give his team a testimonial meeting whenever he desired; would give all the American and Irish championship events, and an all-round competition. His association was to take all the gate receipts over and above expenses, and the following guarantees were made for tickets: Staten Island Athletic Club, $500; N.Y. Athletic Club, $500; Pastime Athletic Club, $200.

“This offer was refused by Mr. Cullinan, and he wrote a letter to the Secretary of the Union asking that the resolution be not enforced so far as his team was concerned. As a similar request was made at Detroit on behalf of the Western athletes, and Messrs. Schifferstein and Pursell of the Olympic Club, San Francisco, and refused, no action was taken. The request could not have been granted owing to the fact that the Irish team seemed bound by contract to the Manhattan A. C., and paid little or no attention to the Union’s propositions.

“The National published on its official circular the following Executive Committee: President, Walton Storm, Manhattan A. C.; vice-president, Wm. Halpin, Olympic A. C.; secretary, C. H. Mapes, Intercollegiate A. C.; treasurer, W. C. Rowland, Staten Island A. C.; S. S. Safford, American A. C.; W. G. Hegeman, Nassau A. C.; Geo. S. Rhoades, Missouri A. A. A.; and on the Games Committee, W. C. Rowland, Staten Island A. C.; Walton Storm, Manhattan A. C.; W. G. Hegeman, Nassau A. C.

“Now, the following delegates and clubs mentioned on the Executive Committee were not members of the National, viz.: Vice-President, William Halpin, Olympic A. C.; treasurer, W. C. Rowland, Staten Island A. C.; S. A. Safford, American A. C.; W. G. Hegeman, Nassau A. C.; and of the Games Committee: W. C. Rowland, Staten Island A. C.; and W. G. Hegeman, Nassau A. C., the clubs having resigned and joined the Amateur Athletic Union. This left on the Executive Board of the so-called National: President Walton Storm, Manhattan A. C.; secretary, C. H. Mapes, Intercollegiate A. A., and George S. Rhoades, Missouri A. A. A., with Walton Storm on the Games Committee. On both the circulars and postal-cards, issued respectively under dates of September 3 and September 18 by the so-called National, were found no names whatsoever, nor did the parties left claim any more members. Therefore, the following articles taken from the constitution and by-laws of the so-called N. A. A. A. A. proved beyond a doubt to any fair-minded person that such an association was virtually out of existence since the resignations of afore-mentioned organizations, to wit:

CONSTITUTION.--ARTICLE III.

_Membership._

The membership of this association shall be limited to amateur athletic clubs, and any associate club not giving at least one public outdoor athletic meeting each year, to consist of not less than five games, open to all amateurs, shall pay a fine of twenty-five dollars, to be paid at or before the next annual meeting, and in default of such payment such club shall forfeit its membership.

And the Intercollegiate Athletic Association may become a member of this association, such Intercollegiate Association to be deemed an amateur athletic club for all purposes herein.

ARTICLE VI.

_Application for Membership._

Any amateur athletic club desiring to join the association shall send to the secretary an application for membership, a copy of its constitution and by-laws, and a list of its officers and members. The secretary shall submit this application to each member of the Executive Committee in turn, and these members shall endorse their decision. The approval of seven members of the Executive Committee shall be necessary to constitute an election.

BY-LAWS.--ARTICLE III.

_Meetings._

The annual meeting of the Executive Committee shall be held at the close of the annual meeting of the association. Special meetings of the Executive Committee shall be called by the secretary either at the written request of three members of the committee or by order of the president, and one week’s notice of said meeting shall be sent to every member of the committee. At all meetings of the committee five members shall constitute a quorum.

“By the first it is proven that the Intercollegiate Association was but a single organization in the so-called National Association. The second shows that it was necessary to have seven members of the Executive Committee present in order to elect a new club to membership, and the third that there should have been five members present to hold a meeting. As the so-called N. A. A. A. A. had not been able to hold a meeting or transact business under its own constitution and by-laws, the organization in the Union refused to recognize the existence of the so-called National Association of Amateur Athletes of America, and in so doing stated that the respective clubs comprising the Union positively denied having in any way boycotted the Irish Gaelic Team, owing to the fact that the latter simply joined with the Manhattan and Missouri Athletic clubs in preference to the Amateur Athletic Union which was composed of twenty-seven leading associations.

“The M. A. C. _Chronicle_ of October, 1888, published the following clubs as having had delegates present at the so-called National’s annual meeting held about October 13: Missouri A. A. A., St. Louis; Manhattan A. C., New York City; Star A. C., Long Island City; West Side A. C., New York City; Allerton A. C., New York City; and Intercollegiate A. A.

“The Allerton A. C. was organized in September, 1888, by members of the Manhattan A. C. Mr. G. M. L. Sacks is treasurer, and Mr. G. M. L. Sacks of the Manhattan A. C. represents the club on the so-called National Association’s Executive Committee. Of late the Manhattan A. C. men have organized several so-called athletic clubs in order to swell the list of clubs belonging to the so-called National Association, and in the M. A. C. _Chronicle_ of November, 1888, we find Walton Storm, G. M. L. Sacks and Fred A. Ware, three well-known M. A. C. men on the Executive Committee of the so-called National Association, and probably two or three others of which it is not positive.

“None of the so-called National clubs own any property, except the land which Mr. Walton Storm of the M. A. C. lately purchased for about $160,000, on which it is proposed to build a club-house. We, therefore, arrive at the following totals:

_National Clubs._ _Membership._ _Property._ Manhattan A. C. 400 None. Missouri A. A. A. 200 “ Star A. C. 60 “ West Side A. C. 40 “ Allerton A. C. 50 “ --- -------- Entire National 750 Nothing.

“The so-called National during the past year has given the St. Louis championship meeting, New York championship meeting, and a ten-mile championship run. (The New York meeting was twice postponed and the ten-mile run was also postponed.)

_Union Clubs._ _Membership._ _Property._

New York A. C. 2,500 $410,000 New York Turn Verein 2,500 150,000 A. C. of Schuylkill Navy 680 85,000 Staten Island A. C. 900 85,000 Columbia A. C. (Wash.) 400 65,000 Orange A. C. 650 60,000 Detroit A. C. 500 35,000 New Jersey A. C. 500 35,000 Flushing A. C. 200 25,000 Jersey City A. C. 500 35,000 Berkeley A. C. 250 225,000 ----- ---------- Eleven Union Clubs out of membership of 29 9,580 $1,210,000

“During the past ten months of the A. A. U.’s existence, six championship meetings have been given, namely:

“Boxing, wrestling and fencing championships; general gymnastic championships; swimming championships; Chicago Western championships; Detroit American championships; New York indoor American championships.”

The programme for the coming year, arranged by the A. A. U., is most extensive and comprises a really notable list of events.

“In view of all these facts it can readily be seen that the Amateur Athletic Union has done more during its short period of existence to encourage and foster athletic sports than the National has done in almost its entire history of ten years. The Union has nationalized athletics, and has proved itself to be national in character. It is composed of more and stronger clubs than the National, and it has not only come to stay, but also to make itself felt throughout the entire United States.”

In regard to the personal attacks made upon the leading spirits of the Union by the Manhattan Athletic Club _Chronicle_, we do not propose to say anything. We pass them by with the remark that “abuse is not argument,” and that such indiscriminate scattering of verbal mud can further no cause.

In conclusion, we wish to remark that the evil effects of this disruption are already becoming apparent. “Union is strength,” and the following fact shows that the athletic world is losing its unity:

“A Western Association has now been formed with a view to governing the sport solely in the West. To further this cause, the Missouri Club resigns from the N. A. A. A. A. and the Union, while the Wanderers of Chicago club resigned from the A. A. U.”

[Illustration]

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

The Casino, for the time being, has deserted the French and German composers of comic opera and taken up the early English humor of Gilbert wedded to the modern English music of Sullivan. “The Yeoman of the Guard,” the latest production of these two writers, is now in the full tide of its run at the Casino. It is doubtful, however, if its prosperity will approach anywhere near that of its predecessor, “The Mikado.” The theme does not admit of the same supply of fun, life, color or picturesqueness in acting, and while Sir Arthur Sullivan has given us some of the best music he has ever written, it is not destined to strike the popular fancy. A comic opera that does not win popular taste is sure to be short-lived. This may not be evidence of good taste, but it is true, nevertheless. The manner, however, in which “The Yeoman of the Guard” is put on the stage here, as regards costumes and appointments, is good; but when the cast is considered it is time to hesitate in praise. With the exception of Miss Bertha Ricci, Mr. Ryley and Mr. Solomon, the other principals engaged to present it are unequal to the task. In women, particularly, is “The Yeoman” weak. Miss Sylvia Gerrish and Miss Isabella Urquhart are, to put it mildly, not happy in the rôles to which they are assigned. Vocally, they are not up to the mark, and their acting is on a parallel with their singing. The male members of the company are also of inferior make-up. All the coaching of Mr. Richard Barker, the London stage-manager, cannot make singers and actors without the proper material. With a good caste, “The Yeoman of the Guard” would have been a great success here, as it is now given. While it is by no means a failure, it has disappointed numbers who anticipated with pleasure its production.

A MELODRAMATIC UNDER-CURRENT.

Augustin Daly has once more plunged into the exciting scenes and thrilling situations of melodrama. With the production of “The Under-Current” at Niblo’s, he has gone back to his first and early love. “The Under Current” is a reminiscent kind of work in which familiar scenes are called to mind, but Mr. Daly has been candid enough to acknowledge the source from which he had taken them. To “Under the Gaslight,” one of the most successful local dramas of its day, and “A Flash of Lightning,” he is indebted for some of his effects. Both plays named were written by Mr. Daly. He has availed himself of some of the material contained in these works effectively. “The Under-Current” is English in story, English in character, and the scenes are all laid in England. The play was not successful, and after a short time was withdrawn from the stage of Niblo’s.

THE ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE DRAMA.

Charles H. Hoyt is one of the most prolific writers of the present day in a class of so-called farcical comedies. “A Hole in the Ground,” “The Parlor Match” and “A Brass Monkey” are the names of a few of his most successful works. They have been played in this and other cities to overflowing houses. One peculiarity of the Hoyt _pot-pourri_ is that while people as a rule declare that the productions are rubbish and “all that kind of thing,” they crowd the theatres in which they are given, to enjoy the Hoyt nonsense and be amused at its absurdities. It is not, however, the story, its manner of construction, or the dialogue of a Hoyt skit which entertains, nearly so much as the situations, music, and rough-and-tumble business of a number of fairly clever people of variety-show tendencies. The Hoyt order of play will not live long, but the prolific author of this curiously named theatrical driftwood is bright enough to perceive that amusement seekers relish nonsense and absurdity on the stage, no matter how ridiculous, and he furnishes a supply equal to the demand.

OUR MARY’S RETURN.

Mary Anderson’s return to the United States and her reappearance in this city was hailed with welcome. It is three years since she left here to play a return engagement in England. Her success abroad has been such as she may feel just pride in. It moreover serves as a rebuke to a certain class of people who claim there is no English recognition for American talent. The absurdity of this assumption is self-evident. “A Winter’s Tale,” as presented at Palmer’s Theatre by Miss Anderson and her company is a creditable production.

ENGLISH BURLESQUE BY ENGLISH PLAYERS.

Nellie Farren and Fred Leslie, of the Gaiety Theatre, London, arrived in this city just prior to the presidential election, and opened at the Standard Theatre shortly after in the burlesque, “Monte Cristo, Jr.” Miss Farren has been the pet of the London public for twenty years or more. She won her place to honorable regard by her acknowledged abilities as an actress of burlesque characters. Her talent, however, is not confined to this class of entertainment alone. A long experience on the stage--she began her career before the footlights when she was a child--has given her opportunity to attempt all kinds of parts. In the romantic, domestic and Shakespearian drama she has made a commendable record. Boys’ parts are her particular specialty, and in these she excels. Miss Farren has introduced English burlesque in its best form to New Yorkers. The attempt has been made before by other companies from London, but shapely forms in scanty costumes were suborned to the artistic requirements of the performers. In English burlesque, as given by Miss Farren and her Gaiety Company, we get an attractive travesty told with intelligent action, bright music, movement and life. It has made an impression as it deserved, while it has given contradiction to the theory entertained by the few that because Londoners could not recognize the burlesque elements in an American company sent hastily abroad, a New York public would reject an English burlesque company here. Bringing coals to Newcastle must, in the regular order of things, prove unprofitable, but there was no good reason why the theatre-goers of this city should withhold their patronage from an entertainment which has won the attention of the amusement seekers of the British metropolis. The engagement of the London Gaiety Company at the Standard has taught us much in the line of burlesque.

~Richard Neville.~

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

~A story~ which deals with a routine of life, strangely unlike the common every-day existence of civilization, is the novel, entitled “A Mexican Girl,” by Frederick Thickstun (Boston: Ticknor & Co. 1888). The most _blasé_ novel reader will find his attention riveted by the novelty and wildness of the scenes depicted. The word-painting and dialect are good throughout, and, as a rule, the characters are very strongly drawn; but there is a striking improbability in the supposition that any man could, like the New England schoolmaster, have reached the age of thirty, or thereabouts, and remained so ignorant of the ways of the world. The climax of the story is, moreover, somewhat unsatisfactory. The principal character is dismissed rather summarily. In spite of such disadvantages, the volume is full of strong situations, and the interest is well sustained, while the scene, laid in the Southwest, in a community composed of Americans, Anglo-Americans, and Mexicans, serves as a weird and picturesque background.

* * * * *

~An~ amusing and interesting account of a yachting expedition is to be found in “The Devil of a Trip; or, The Log of the Yacht Champlain,” by J. Armoy Knox, the well-known editor of _Texas Siftings_ (New York: National Literary Bureau). The volume forms a number of “The Unique Series,” and is entitled to its position. It consists, in fact, of a photo-engraved reproduction of the letters from Colonel Knox, as they originally appeared in the columns of sundry well-known daily papers, with the addition of clever marginal sketches by Thomas Worth. The voyage was an inland one, and apart from the entertainment to be derived from the book, it may serve to furnish many hints to intending voyagers of desirable routes of travel.

* * * * *

~Messrs. A. G. Spalding & Bros.~ have issued a little hand-book entitled “Baseball,” by Harry Palmer, in view of their Australian tour. It contains short and interesting biographies of the players who compose the Australian teams, and careful directions and explanations as to the science of the game. Every lover of the national game should own a copy of this manual, if only for reference in settling knotty points in the intricacies of play.

* * * * *

~When~ Mr. W. W. Greener adds another to his list of works on the subject of guns, the sportsman may feel sure of gaining valuable information by the perusal of the volume. “_Ne sutor ultra crepidam_,” is a motto which should especially apply to writers of books on such subjects, and a volume of this description, unless from the pen of an expert, is worse than useless. In “Modern Shotguns” (Messrs. Cassell & Co.) the author, without reiterating what he has already published, has given sportsmen a valuable guide to the selection of the right weapon in the right place. The mass of useful and interesting facts and information incorporated will please every one interested in such matters, while the cuts and diagrams are a markedly useful feature.

* * * * *

~An~ account of a winter sojourn in the kindly climate of a tropic land may, to readers enduring the rigors of a northern latitude, serve either of two purposes. It may inspire with envy and malice, or serve to transport one for a while far from the interminable snow and slush. Such as can read, without evoking the darker passions, a prettily told narrative of a winter spent in the pleasant warmth of a land blessed with

“A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers,”

should promptly peruse “A Winter Picnic,” by J. and C. E. Dickinson and S. E. Dowd (New York: H. Holt & Co. 1888). The ladies who have contributed to the book seem to have basked the winter through in the glorious sunshine, but also have not neglected to chronicle, in an amusing way, many a small inconvenience and drawback. The primitive civilization of Nassau, the queer traits of the negroes, and, in short, all the curious features of a country utterly unlike the great marts of commerce, are duly set forth in an entertaining fashion.

* * * * *

~The~ literature of amateur photography--that most fascinating pastime--grows apace. “The International Annual of Anthony’s Photographic Bulletin, for 1888” (New York: Messrs. E. & H. T. Anthony; London: Messrs. H. Greenwood & Co.), is a charming contribution. It embodies a vast collection of papers on the various aspects of the art from the pens of the best authorities on the subject. Information on any and every point can be found in the pages, and no amateur photographer should omit to study it. Messrs. Anthony’s manual for amateurs, “How to Make Photographs,” contains a variety of practical instructions and formulæ which are of substantial service.

* * * * *

~We~ have received some charming children’s story-books of an exceptionally interesting character. Messrs. Lee & Shepard, Boston, and Charles T. Dillingham, New York, are the publishers, and the excellent appearance of these seasonable little volumes reflects much credit on them. The mere fact that the text of “The King of the Golden River, or the Black Brothers,” a legend of Stiria, is from the pen of John Ruskin, and the illustrations by Richard Doyle, speaks for itself. “The Last of the Hugger-muggers, a Giant Story,” and its sequel, “Kobboltozo,” by Christopher Pearse Cranch, are thrilling tales for the delectation of the little ones. Other two books for juvenile readers, but for those out of the nursery, from the same publishers, are “A Start in Life,” by J. T. Trowbridge, and “Little Miss Wheezy’s Brother,” by Penn Shirley. Both are admirably calculated to effect the purpose for which they were written, and will prove admirable gift-books for this holiday season.

[Illustration: AMENITIES.]

THE BRITISH FOX’S LAMENT.

“‘A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,’ So runs a line of the hunting song; But a bleak nor’-easter is what suits me, Driving and whirling the snow along.

“From the times of yore has the fox been sung As a sly old rogue and merry wight, Who loves the gay sound of the horn and hound And gobbles chickens the livelong night.

“Such things may have been, but the times are changed; Chickens are scarce, and the farmers keen, And with all the hunting that’s going on, I’m quite played out and am growing lean.

“Now, a neighbor was lately telling me Of a land that sounds like Paradise, Where instead of a fox they hunt a bag, Where chickens are cheap and very nice.

“And I wonder much if such things can be; Egad! how I’d laugh to see that sport; But they ‘break us up’ when they catch us here-- What do they do when the bag is caught?

“I have half a mind to speak to my wife And take the cubs to these promised lands: As I go back home, I’ll call at the bank And see how much to my credit stands.

“But, hark! I’ll be hanged if it ain’t that horn-- I guess I’ll skip ere the hounds catch on.” A few minutes after, the pack came up And found the old “varmint” home had gone.

_Sporting Tramp._

[Illustration: ~Tally Ho!~

~Gone Away!!~]

[Illustration: Editor’s Scrap Book]

AT THE RIDING SCHOOL.

~In~ her new riding habit of soft olive green She appeared quite as lovely and proud as a queen, As around the big ring with a petulant bob She sailed on the spine of the old sorrel cob.

She rocked like the reed in the breezes a-dream, She rocked like a lily upon a wild stream; And she made the old cob like a bald-eagle fly When she hit him right over his only good eye.

Oh, she seemed like a queen in the yellow side-saddle, When she made the wild horse to “Erminie” skedaddle! And when the band ceased, from the stirrup she dropped, And over the platform most gracefully hopped.

Then I heard her observe with a gesture elate: “I am now riding daily to pull down my weight-- I am losing flesh daily by riding, and that Is the reason I’ve stopped taking Smith’s anti-fat!”

--_Puck._

* * * * *

~Miss Gushington~ (_enjoying a sleigh ride_): I think you have a lovely horse, Mr. De Lyle. About what does such a fine horse cost?

~Mr. de Lyle~: Two dollars an hou--oh--er--yes, that horse is worth about eight hundred dollars, Miss Gushington.--_Epoch._

* * * * *

~Smith~: What paper are you working on now?

~Jones~: Ain’t working on any paper. The season is over with me.

“How’s that?”

“I was the humorist on the _Bugle_ who got off jokes on the baseball umpire. As soon as the baseball season closed I was bounced. I’m trying to get a position as a coal-dealer and slipped-up-on-the-ice humorist.”--_Texas Siftings._

* * * * *

~A pretty~ maiden fell overboard at New Bedford the other day, and her lover leaned over the side of the boat, as she rose to the surface, and said: “Give me your hand.” “Please ask papa,” she gently murmured, as she calmly sank for the second time.--_Boston Herald._

* * * * *

ANOTHER HUNTING INCIDENT.

~Doctor P.~ had been asked to make one of a party to shoot over some private preserves. It turned out to be one of his unlucky days.

“I give you my word,” he at last exclaimed, in despair, “I can’t kill a thing!”

“Come, doctor,” suggested his host, “just imagine that you are at the bedside of a patient.”--_Judge._

* * * * *

~Oh~! music sweet has charms, you know, To soothe the savage breast; It lightens troubles, calms all woe, And gives the weary rest.

In order, then, to kill his cares, And all his sorrows check, The blear-eyed, big-mouthed bull-dog wears A brass band round his neck.

--_New York Journal._

* * * * *

~Wife~ (_indignantly_): I’ve heard through a certain married lady in town, John, that you bet me against a horse the other night that your candidate would win?

~Husband~: Well, what of it? My candidate is bound to win; the other man hasn’t the ghost of a show, and, as you’ve always wanted a riding horse, I thought I would just get you one, and get it cheap.--_The Epoch._

* * * * *

~Parson’s Wife~: Why, Johnny, you’re not going fishing on Sunday, are you?

~Johnny~: Oh, no--no. I--I only thought I’d take the pole away from the house so that my brothers needn’t be tempted.--_Life._

* * * * *

~Captain~: Well, what do you make it out to be?

~Miss Culture~ (_of Boston_): Why, it is a feline vessel, a Grimalkin craft.

~Captain~: Oh, yes; we call ’em cat-boats.--_Ocean._

* * * * *

~Jones~: Ramrod, they say that it takes a temperature of 64° below zero to kill a wild goose.

~Ramrod~: Well, what of it?

~Jones~: Oh, I was just thinking that you won’t be likely to get any wild geese this season, that’s all.--_Burlington Free Press._

[Illustration: ~Pleasure Travel and Resorts~]

~The~ following extracts from Mr. H. H. Johnston’s paper in the _Fortnightly Review_ for October will interest sportsmen. Mr. Johnston grows enthusiastic over the new territory ceded by the Sultan of Zanzibar to the Imperial British East African Company:

“The animal products of this region are typically African, and at the time of my journeyings therein it was a sportsman’s paradise.... Buffaloes, which abound so as to be dangerous, provide very eatable beef. Rhinoceros are so numerous in the interior that the horns are an important item in trade, for they may be sold on the coast for three or four rupees each (say 6s.). Hippopotami are abundant in the rivers and lakes.... The elephant abounds in the neighborhood of Kilimanjaro and Kenia to the extent of many thousands. He here becomes quite a mountaineer, and ranges through the magnificent forests that clothe the upper slopes of these giants among African peaks. The natives waylay his forest tracks with artfully devised pitfalls and traps, preferring this more cowardly way of procuring their ivory to facing the elephant in the chase.... Lions’ skins are less easy to obtain from the natives, as that animal is rarely killed by them; but sportsmen might shoot him to a considerable extent, as he is both common and bold. Monkey skins of the handsome variety of bushy white-tailed Colobus, which is alone found in this region, are valuable.

“Ostriches are exceedingly numerous throughout this district of East Africa; the species which is here represented is the _Struthio Danaoides_ of Captain Shelley’s determination. It differs from the widespread _Struthio Camelus_ in the color of the soft parts and naked skin, and the size and markings of the egg. When living in Taveita, in the summer and autumn of 1884, I and my men used to largely subsist on their eggs, which were brought us in numbers by the natives, and sold for about a pennyworth of cloth each. Of course, to any ornithologist, this country is exceedingly interesting, and there is an abundance of guinea-fowl, francolin, pigeons, and bustards.”

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~Should~ the disappearance of all kinds of game, with which we are so much threatened in America, really come to pass, it looks as if Scandinavia would be a good field to seek. Bears and wolves were unusually numerous in Sweden last summer; in the province of Jemtland four were seen on one occasion, and much damage to cattle was reported. Elks were very plentiful, in consequence of rigid preservation, particularly in Central and Southern Sweden, large herds having been seen of these noble animals. A great royal elk hunt took place recently on the Hunneberg estate, in Sudermania, a Swedish crown property, when upwards of 100 elks were killed. As to feather game, the season in Sweden was better than was anticipated after so long and severe a winter. From several parts came good reports of blackgame, capercailzie and partridges. For the protection of the last during the winter, when the snow makes feeding difficult, the Swedish Shooting Association has decided upon granting awards to farmers who feed these birds during that season.

In Norway, however, game was scarce, owing to the terribly severe and long winter. This was particularly the case with the rype, or brown ptarmigan. The reindeer shooting was good, and bears seem to have been more than usually numerous last summer, particularly in South-central Norway.

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~The~ following facts may, however, prove instructive to Americans who think of emulating the example set by some few of their countrymen, and seeking their sport abroad at the present time. In the Valuation Appeal Court for Inverness, held recently, the first case called was that of Donald Cameron, of Lochiel, who appealed against the valuation of his deer forest at the rate of £25 per stag, and of his grouse-shootings at 10s. per brace. Finally the case was settled at the rate of £20 per stag, and 10s. per brace of grouse. It would be of much interest to know what the rating of these properties would be if they were used for agricultural purposes. It is worthy of note that Scotch venison does not fetch more than 10c. per pound for the hind quarter in the London market, and half that sum for the fore quarter.

* * * * *

~The~ following chronology of railways affords a good index to the progressiveness of the countries mentioned: The first railway was opened in England on Sept. 27, 1825; Austria, Sept. 30, 1828; France, Oct. 1, 1828; United States, Dec. 28, 1829; Belgium, May 3, 1835; Germany, Dec. 7, 1835; Cuba, in 1837; Russia, on April 4, 1838; Italy, in September, 1839; Switzerland, on July 15, 1844; Jamaica, Nov. 21, 1845; Spain, Oct. 24, 1848; Canada, in May, 1850; Mexico and Peru, in 1850; Sweden, in 1851; Chili, in January, 1852; India, on April 18, 1853; Norway, in July, 1853; Portugal, in 1854; Brazil, April 21, 1854; Victoria (Australia), Sept. 14, 1854; Columbia, Jan. 28, 1850; New South Wales, Sept. 25, 1850; Egypt, in January, 1856; Natal, on June 26, 1860; and in Turkey, on Oct. 4, 1860.

[Illustration: ~Our MONTHLY RECORD~]

~This~ department of ~Outing~ is specially devoted to paragraphs of the doings of members of organized clubs engaged in the reputable sports of the period, and also to the recording of the occurrence of the most prominent events of the current season. On the ball-fields it will embrace _Cricket_, _Baseball_, _Lacrosse_ and _Football_. On the bays and rivers, _Yachting_, _Rowing_ and _Canoeing_. In the woods and streams, _Hunting_, _Shooting_ and _Fishing_. On the lawns, _Archery_, _Lawn Tennis_ and _Croquet_. Together with Ice-Boating, Skating, Tobogganing, Snowshoeing, Coasting, and winter sports generally.

Secretaries of clubs will oblige by sending in the names of their presidents and secretaries, with the address of the latter, together with the general result of their most noteworthy contests of the month, addressed, “Editor of ~Outing~,” 239 Fifth Avenue, New York.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

_All communications intended for the Editorial Department should be addressed to “The Editor,” and not to any person by name. Advertisements, orders, etc., should be kept distinct, and addressed to the manager. Letters and inquiries from anonymous correspondents will not receive attention. All communications to be written on one side of the paper only._

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

~At~ a meeting of the Photographic Society of Philadelphia, held recently, the executive committee of the Interchange reported that it had selected from the slides of 1886-’87 two hundred specimens to be sent to England in exchange for the same number to be sent to this country.

* * * * *

~During~ the past year the Chicago Lantern Slide Club has added materially to its numbers. The following new members were admitted some time since: C. E. Bradbury, J. L. Atwater, E. H. Reed, G. H. Daggett, Charles Stadler, F. S. Osborn, B. D. Washington, and Wallace Fairbank. Three members were added to the executive committee: Dr. C. F. Matteson, E. J. Wagner, and G. A. Douglas.

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~The~ Society of Amateur Photographers of New York gave a Smoking Concert, November 18, which proved a very enjoyable affair. There was some good vocal and instrumental music, and after the concert was over, the audience had a “German-American tea”--the tea having been brewed in a keg, after the manner of the German. Strange to say, on the conclusion of the repast there were several “kegs full,” after the manner of the American.

* * * * *

~The~ New Orleans Camera Club has recently taken a number of sketches of an “outing” along the line of the Northeastern railroad. Some pretty bits of scenery and quaint negro characters were taken during the trip. The following gentlemen headed the excursion party: President William Mandeville, Vice-President Joseph A. Hincks, Secretary Charles E. Fermer, Treasurer Harry T. Howard.

ATHLETICS.

~The~ fall handicap meeting of the Harvard Athletic Association was held November 5, on Holmes’ Field, Cambridge, Mass. The events were as follows:

100-yards run--_First heat_, O. K. Hawes, ’92 (2 yds.), first. Time, 10½s. _Second heat_, E. C. Moen, ’91 (scratch), first. Time, 10 2-5s. _Final heat_, O. K. Hawes, ’92 (2 yds.), first. Time, 10 2-5s.

Running broad jump--G. R. White (scratch), first. Distance, 20 ft. 2½ in.

One-mile walk--C. T. R. Bates, ’92 (30 sec.), first. Time, 8m. 1½s. J. E. Howe, ’91 (scratch), second.

One-mile run--J. L. Dodge, ’91 (100 yds.), first. Time, 4m. 34s. A. M. White, ’92 (100 yds.), second.

Running high jump--E. W. Dustan, ’89 (3 in.), first. Distance, 5 ft.

440-yards run--T. J. Stead, ’91 (10 yds.), first. Time, 52¾s. W. H. Wright, ’92, second.

Half-mile run--G. L. Batchelder, ’92 (40 yds.), first. Time, 2m. 3s.

220-yards run--S. Wells, Jr., ’91 (12 yds.), first. Time, 23 2-5s. O. K. Hawes, ’92 (5 yds.), second.

The officers of the course were: Referee, G. B. Morrison, ’83; Judges, J. D. Bradley, L. S., F. B. Lund, ’88; Judge of Walking, H. H. Bemis, ’87; Timekeepers, J. G. Lathrop, F. D. Fisher, ’86, J. T. Taylor, E. S. Wright, L. S.; Scorer, Allston Burr, ’89.

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~The~ fall games of the Friends’ Central School, Philadelphia, were held November 4, at the University Grounds.

Pole vault--Stuart, 7 ft. 5 in.

One-mile run--Emerick, 6m. 13 3-5s.

Running high jump--Sill, 4 ft. 8 in.

Standing broad jump--Goldsmith, 9 ft. 2 in.

Half-mile walk--Wilkeson, 4m. 27½s.

100-yards run (juniors)--_Final heat_, Stuart, 11 4-5s.

Throwing baseball--Burrough, 1.

100-yards run (seniors)--_Final heat_, Goldsmith, 11 4-5s.

440-yards run--A’Becket, 1.

Three-legged race--Burrough and Marter, 11 4-5s.

One-mile bicycle race--Mode, 3m. 38 2-3s.

Putting the shot--Meredith, 27 ft. 9 in.

Running broad jump--Dumont, 18 ft. 4 in.

Hurdle race--Dickeson, 22 2-5s.

Tug-of-war--Class of ’89, 1, by 3 inches.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletes of the Gaelic Club of Ireland left for home on the _City of Rome_, October 31. The trip to this country did not prove a great financial success.

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~The~ first annual games of the Outing Athletic Club were held on the grounds of the Brooklyn Athletic Association, November 6. The attendance was large, the management good, the track in fine condition, and the racing events were closely contested and interesting. Nearly six hundred people witnessed the sports, which resulted as follows:

100-yards professional race, handicap--E. Herline, Wilmington (5½ yds.) first; Steve Farrell, Rockville, Conn., second. Time, 10 1-5s.

120-yards run, handicap (amateur)--Thomas Lee, N. Y. Y. M. C. A., first; N. Linicus, Olympic A. C., second. Time, 12½s.

Running high jump, handicap--M. O. Sullivan, Pastime A. C., first; R. K. Pritchard, Staten Island A. C., second. Height, 5 ft. 5 in., handicap 5 in.; second, 5 ft. 8½ in.

One-mile walk, handicap--W. F. Pollman, Pastime A. C., first (40 sec.); J. B. Keating second. Time, 7m. 1-5s.

Half-mile run, handicap--A. Aspengein, Prospect Harriers (42 yds.), first; W. H. Moore, N. Y. A. C. (45 yds.), second. Time, 2m. 2 3-5s.

350-yards run, handicap--R. R. Houston, I. H. (20 yds.), first; W. E. Hughes, Pastime A. C., second. Time, 39 4-5s.

Running broad jump, handicap--S. D. See, (36 in.), Brooklyn A. C., first, 18 ft. 9½ in.; W. Neuman, Olympic A. C. (30 in.), second.

One-mile run, handicap--P. C. Petrie, Olympic A. C. (43 yds.), first; E. Hjertberg, Olympic A. C., (35 yds.), second.

220-yards hurdle race, handicap--A. Brown, Pastime A. C. (8 yds.), first; W. H. Struse, S. I. A. C., second. Time, 27½s.

Putting the 16-lb. shot, handicap--W. Neuman, Olympic A. C. (6 ft.), first; Alf. Ing, Y. M. C. A. (1 ft.), second. Distance, 31 ft. 4½ in.

* * * * *

~I. B. Meredith~, the well-known sprinter and football player of Ireland is coming to America.

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~Schifferstein~, the California amateur sprinter, has decided to become a professional. He and Bethune will be a great pair at 100 yards.

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~An~ athletic enterprise has been set on foot by the National Assoc. of Amateur Athletes of America. It is this: The association has determined to hold a national meeting immediately before their international championship next May. The meeting will be open to every amateur in the United States, and the winners of contests will form an international team which will make a tour of Europe, entering all amateur championship games held in foreign countries. The team will also hold a series of games at the Paris Exposition of 1889. Many prominent men interested in athletics are very favorably impressed with the scheme and believe that it will be a successful one.

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~The~ following definition of an amateur has been adopted by the Western Association: An amateur athlete is one who has never competed with or against a professional for a prize, or who has never competed for a staked bet or other monetary consideration or under a fictitious name, or who has never, directly or indirectly, either in competition or as an instructor, or as an assistant or through any connection whatever with any form of athletic games obtained any financial consideration, either directly or indirectly; who has never sold or pledged any prize or token won or obtained through connection with athletics, or whose membership in any athletic organization is of no pecuniary benefit to himself, directly or indirectly.

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~The~ games of the Manhattan Athletic Club, November 6, were of a high order. Four new records were made, two on the running path and two on the field. The cinder-path was in excellent condition. Arthur George and G. L. Young, the champion cross-country runners of England, gave exhibitions of their style. Conneff and Mitchell, the Irish runner and the weight thrower, made new records. The following is a summary of the events:

100-yards run--_First heat_: F. Westing, M. A. C. (scratch), and A. F. Copeland, M. A. C. (2 yds.), a dead heat, in 10 2-5s. _Second heat_: J. S. Wieners, Jr., M. A. C. (9 yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Third heat_: H. Shipman (4½ yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Fourth heat_: J. C. Devereaux, M. A. C. (5 yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Fifth heat_: W. M. Macdermott, M. A. C. (7 yds.), first, in 10 4-5s. _Final heat_: Macdermott first, Devereaux second, Copeland third; time, 10 1-5s. It was a fine race, and less than 18 inches divided the four men at the finish.

Two-mile walk--E. D. Lange, M. A. C. (scratch), first, time 14m. 45 2-5s.; F. Fillistrand, W. S. A. C. (80 sec.), second, in 16m. 21s.; F. A. Ware, M. A. C. (25 sec.), third, not timed.

Throwing 16-lb. hammer--M. W. Ford, Brooklyn (25 feet), first, at 78 ft. 11 in.; J. S. Mitchell, M. A. C. (scratch), second, at 101 ft. 4 in.; F. L. Lambrecht, M. A. C. (scratch), third, at 101 ft. 3 in.

Two-mile run--T. P. Conneff, M. A. C. (scratch), first, in 9m. 43s.; A. Sheridan, W. S. A. C. (175 yds.), second; T. Owens, W. S. A. C. (205 yds.), third; won easily. Conneff made 1 mile in 4m. 48s.; 1¼ miles, 6m. 3 4-5s.; 1½ miles, 7m. 19s., and 1¾ miles, 8m. 32 2-5s. His time at 1¼ miles supplants P. D. Skillman’s 6m. 5 4-5s. made at Brooklyn, July 4, 1887, and his time at 1¾ miles is the best American record, there having been no previous record for the distance. Had Conneff been pushed he could have broken Carter’s two-mile record of 9m. 38 3-5s.

120-yards hurdle race over 3 ft. 6 in. obstacles--A. F. Copeland, M. A. C., first; H. Mapes, Columbia College, second; E. M. Vandervoort, M. A. C., third. Won easily in 16 2-5s. The record is 16 1-5s., by A. A. Jordan, N. Y. A. C.

Quarter-mile run for novices--J. E. Gounison, Columbia College, first; W. Bogardus, M. A. C., second; J. A. Allen, Star A. C. C., third. Won by 5 ft., after a good race, in 58 4-5s.

Running broad jump--Victor Mapes, C. C. A. A. (1 ft. 6 in.), first, at 22 ft. 4½ in.; A. F. Remsen, M. A. C. (1 ft. 3 in.), second, at 22 ft. 4 in.; Z. A. Cooper, U. A. C. (3 ft. 6 in.), third, at 22 ft. 3 in.

350-yards run--J. C. Devereaux, M. A. C. (9 yds.), first; A. F. Copeland, M. A. C. (3 yds.), second; H. Shipman, M. A. C. (12 yds.), third. Copeland got a good start, but was unable to get through the field. He ran a close second in the good time of 39 3-5s.

Field officers: Referee, G. W. Carr, M. A. C.; Judges, C. H. Mapes, Columbia College; W. Gage, M. A. C., and G. L. M. Sacks, M. A. C.; Timers, M. P. Bagg, M. A. C.; G. A. Avery, M. A. C., and A. F. Kimbel, M. A. C.; Judge of Walking, G. L. M. Sacks; Starter, H. P. Pike, M. A. C.

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~The~ amateur athletic clubs of Chicago and vicinity, at present members of the Amateur Athletic Union, have organized a local committee, to be known as the Executive Committee of the Associated A. A. U. Clubs of Chicago and vicinity. The committee will be composed of three delegates from each A. A. U. club within fifty miles of Chicago, and will legislate, under the board of managers of the A. A. U., on all matters pertaining to the interests of the associated clubs and Western athletics in general. The committee is at present composed of delegates from the following clubs: Chicago Amateur Athletic Association, Garden City Athletic Club, First Regt. (I. N. G.) A. A., and Pullman Athletic Club. Officers: Hall T. K. Fake, P. A. C., chairman; Noah Clark, C. A. A. A., secretary and treasurer. The following circular has been issued:

~To the Amateur Athletic Organizations of Chicago and Vicinity~:

The Executive Committee of the Associated A. A. U. clubs of Chicago and vicinity beg to call your attention to the enclosed announcement. It is to the interest of all amateur athletic clubs to associate themselves with a national and thoroughly representative governing body, having for its object the advancement of American amateur athletics and whose rulings shall be final and authoritative on all points of importance in such matters, and whose decisions shall have international recognition. The formation of the local executive committee insures the proper representation of each local club, as well as the thorough investigation and care of the mutual interests of the associate clubs and Western athletic interests in general.

Respectfully, ~Noah Clark~, Sec’y.

_Chicago_, Oct. 17, 1888.

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~The~ American Athletic Union held its first supplementary indoor meeting for the Championship of the United States, November 21, at Madison Square Garden in this city. W. B. Curtis was referee and the judges A. V. De Gorcouria, E. C. Carter, and John Huneker. The following is a summary of the events:

Seventy-five yards--_First heat_, W. C. White, N. Y. A. C., first; A. J. Murburg, second; time, 8 2-5s. _Second heat_, Horace Walker, Yale A. C., first; W. E. Hughes, P. A. C., second; time, 8 2-5s. _Third heat_, F. W. Robinson, Yale College and N. Y. A. C., first; H. Luerson, P. A. C., second; time, 8 2-5s. _Fourth heat_, Thomas J. Lee, O. A. C., first; N. H. Strusse, S. I. A. C., second; time, 8 2-5s. _Fifth heat_, S. J. King, Col. A. C., Washington, first; F. H. Babcock, N. Y. A. C., second; time, 8 2-5s. Sixteen competed. _Final heat_, Robinson, Walker, King and Lee competed, the others being beaten in the supplementary heats. Robinson won by a foot; time, 8 2-5s; King second.

200-yards hurdle (3 feet 6 inches)--Run in one heat. Won by A. A. Jordan, N. Y. A. C.; time, 30 4-5s.; G. Schwegler, second; E. Lentilhon, Yale College and N. Y. A. C., third. Four ran. Jordan won as he pleased.

Three-quarter mile walk--T. Sherman, N. J. A. C.; W. R. Burckhardt, P. A. C.; H. Dimse, P. A. C.; Otto Hassell, Chicago A. A. A., and J. C. Kouth, P. A. C., competed. Won easily by Burckhardt; time, 5m. 14s.; Sherman second, Kouth third.

Standing high jump--W. Norris, S. I. A. C.; A. Shroeder, N. Y. A. C.; S. Crook, M. A. C.; F. T. Ducharme, Detroit A. C.; Samuel Toch, S. I. A. C.; R. K. Pritchard, S. I. A. C.; J. R. Elder, Columbia A. C., Washington, D. C.; John Scheurer, O. A. C.; E. Giannini, N. Y. A. C., and B. L. Harrison, Orange A. C., competed. Crook won with 4 ft. 11½ in. This is within three-quarters of an inch of the American record, and beats the English record 1½ inches. The start was made at 3 ft. 6 in.

1,000 yards run--G. V. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C.; E. A. Merrick, M. A. C.; S. Barr, S. I. A. C.; W. T. Thompson, S. I. A. C., and W. J. Gregory, Birmingham A. C., competed. It was a good race, and during the last lap and a half Gilbert and Thompson were in advance and running for their lives. Gilbert lasted the longest and won by several yards. Time, 2m. 26 4-5s.

150-yards run--_First heat_, W. C. White, N. Y. A. C., first; Thomas S. Lee, O. A. C., second; time, 17 1-5s. _Second heat_, S. J. King, Col. A. C., Washington, D. C., first; W. E. Hughes, P. A. C., second; time, 17½s. _Third heat_, F. T. Ducharme, Detroit A. C., first; S. E. Corbett, S. I. A. C., second. _Final heat_, White won a splendid race by less than a foot. Time, 17 1-5s. King was second and Hughes third.

Kicking Football (for accuracy)--C. T. Schlesinger, N. Y. A. C.; T. O. Speir, Orange A. C.; Frank Cunningham, S. I. A. C.; E. J. Chapman, S. I. A. C.; D. A. Lindsay, S. I. A. C.; W. F. Allen, M. A. C.; C. T. Hollister, M. A. C.; E. J. Laidlaw, N. Y. A. C.; G. A. White, M. A. C.; H. Sinclair, M. A. C., and J. J. Barker, P. A. C., competed. Cunningham won, Sinclair second and Allen third.

600-yards run--Stewart Barr, S. I. A. C.; J. F. Robinson, S. I. A. C.; E. E. Barnes, O. A. C.; A. W. S. Cochrane, N. Y. A. C., and J. P. Thornton, N. Y. A. C., competed. Thornton won in hand. Time, 1m. 23 2-5s. Barnes was second and Cochrane third.

56-lb. weight (for height)--E. Giannini, N. Y. A. C.; George R. Gray, N. Y. A. C.; C. A. J. Queckberner, S. I. A. C.; J. Hackett, P. A. C., and M. O. Sullivan, P. A. C., competed. Sullivan won it with 13 ft. 11⅝ in., beating his own record 2⅝ in., made October 2, 1886. Queckberner was second at 13 ft. 7⅝ in. and Hackett at 13 ft. 5⅝ in.

300-yards hurdle (2 feet 6 inches)--Run in one heat. A. A. Jordan, N. Y. A. C.; A. Brown, P. A. C.; G. Schwelger, A. A. C., and E. Lentilhon, Yale College and N. Y. A. C., competed. Jordan won without trouble. Time, 41s. Brown was second and Schwelger third.

Running hop, step and jump--Nine of fourteen entries competed. G. R. Robertson, M. A. C., won with 43 ft. 1 in.; E. E. Smith, B. A. A., second, 40 ft. 5 in., and T. H. Babcock, N. Y. A. C., third, 40 ft. The world’s record is 48 ft. 3 in., by J. Purcell, Limerick, June 9, 1887, and the American 44 ft. 1¾ in., by M. W. Ford, New York, May 10, 1884.

Putting 24-lb. shot--George R. Gray, N. Y. A. C.; C. A. J. Queckberner, S. I. A. C.; M. O. Sullivan, P. A. C., and J. Hackett, P. A. C., competed. Gray was in grand form, and covered 32 ft. 6¾ in., which beats the world’s record 4 ft. 7¾ in., it being 27 ft. 11 in., made by George Ross, Salford, England, November 13, 1876. Gray then made an exhibition put, and covered 33 ft. 9½ in. Queckberner was second in the competition, with 31 ft. 3 in., and Sullivan third, with 27 ft. 3½ in. The American record was 25 ft. 7 in., made by M. Markoe, Princeton, N. J., May 13, 1876.

Two-mile run--T. A. Collett, P. A. C.; A. B. George, Spartan Harriers, England; P. C. Petrie, O. A. C.; G. Y. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C.; H. A. Smith, S. I. A. C.; W. F. Thompson, S. I. A. C.; J. Adelsdorfer, P. A. C., and E. Hjertberg, O. A. C., competed. George, who is a brother of W. G. George, the well-known professional long distance runner of England, won easily. Time, 10m. 18 1-5s. The American record is 9m. 38 3-5s., made by E. C. Carter in the open air. E. Hjertberg, O. A. C., was second in the competition, and T. A. Collett, P. A. C., third.

300-yards run, in one heat--J. P. Thornton, N. Y. A. C., won with few inches to spare. Time, 34 3-5s. W. H. Strusse, S. I. A. C., was second, and Horace F. Walker, Yale College, third. Five started.

Four-mile walk--H. Druise, P. A. C.; S. Cramer, P. A. C.; J. C. Korth, P. A. C.; O. E. Paynter, S. I. A. C.; W. R. Burckhardt, P. A. C.; W. Donahy, Prospect Harriers; W. Pollman, P. A. C., and W. A. Berrian, M. A. C., competed. Cramer won. Time, 32m. 13s. The first mile was in 7m. 52 4-5s.; two miles, 16m. 1 3-5s., and three miles, 24m. 14 2-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ Naval Academy cadets had their usual Thanksgiving Day sports, November 29, at Annapolis, Md. The athletic tournament which came off in the forenoon was witnessed by a large number of people. The boys were defeated after an exciting contest in a football game with the Johns Hopkins University team of Baltimore. The score stood--Johns Hopkins, 25; cadets, 12.

In the athletic tournament Cadet Camden cleared 21 ft. 4 in. in a running long jump; Cadet Hoff reached 5 ft. 4 in. in a running high jump; Cadet Chase 7 ft. 8 in. in pole vaulting; Cadet McDonald put a 16-pound shot 32 ft. 10 in., and Cadet Taylor 31 ft. The one hundred yards dash was won by Cadet Brand in 10 sec., or rather so said the timers, beating Cadet Sullivan ¼ of a second.

Throwing the baseball was won by Cadet Beck, who reached 107 yards; Cadet Trickle, second, 103 yards.

In the tug-of-war the contestants were the first and third divisions of cadets against the second and fourth, about 100 on a side. The first and third walked away with their competitors.

* * * * *

~The~ following detailed account of the Montreal Athletic Fair may prove of service in affording hints to organizations of a similar description:

In September, 1887, the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association purchased a fine piece of property in the West End for an athletic ground. The purchase price was $45,000; of this they paid $15,000 in cash. An

## active canvass among the members and friends resulted in $17,000 being

subscribed towards the liquidation of the liability. The leveling of the grounds, fencing, grand-stands and cinder-path (one-third of a mile) cost upwards of $10,000 more, with pavilions and dressing-rooms and other improvements yet to build. The idea of a bazaar or fair, which had been mooted two years previously, was again advanced, the fair friends of the members becoming enthusiastic over it. After some preliminaries the idea took shape; a committee was formed to further the scheme; each club in the association formed a fair committee. A lady was chosen and appointed president of each club table, with power to select as many young ladies as were deemed necessary to assist. Before the summer holidays the scheme was well under way, and during the months of July and August, at most of the Canadian summer resorts, groups of ladies could be seen at work making costly and handsome fancy work for the fair.

The Executive Committee finally stood as follows: F. M. Larmonth, president; D. J. Watson, hon. sec.; Wm. Bruce, treasurer. James Paton, S. M. Baylis, A. G. Walsh, I. Sutherland, A. G. Higginson, and the following chairmen: W. H. White (association), F. C. A. McIndoe (lacrosse), A. W. Stevenson (snow-shoe), F. G. Gnaedinger (bicycle), M. Freeman (toboggan), G. L. Cains (football), W. D. Aird (hockey), W. J. Cleghorn (Junior Lacrosse Club), Harry Brophy (Cinderella), Fred. S. Brush (baseball), W. A. Coates (entertainment).

The lady presidents of each table had from twenty to forty young ladies as assistants, each wearing their particular club color. The lady presidents were as follows: Mrs. W. L. Maltby (association), flower table; Mrs. F. M. Larmonth (lacrosse) fancy table; Mrs. Fred. Birks (snow-shoe), general store table; Mrs. C. W. Dickinson (bicycle), candy and fruit table; Mrs. I. L. Wiseman (toboggan), bric-a-brac table; Mrs. Geo. Drummond (football), art gallery; Mrs. Will H. Whyte (Cinderella), refreshment parlor; Mrs. James Paton (hockey), fancy goods table; Mrs. Fred. Massey (junior lacrosse), fancy table; Mrs. Fred. S. Brush (baseball), linen and basket table. In all ten tables and two hundred and fifty assistants.

The fair was held the last week in September, in the Victoria Skating Rink. Booths for each club were erected on the promenade around the sides of the building, leaving the centre part free for the visitors and patrons, with the exception of the flower table, which occupied a place in the centre. Each table or booth was arranged differently, and prettily decorated with the bunting and ribbons of each club color, and the various and distinct implements of each particular sport. Lacrosses, snow-shoes, bicycles, toboggans, footballs, hockey sticks and skates, baseballs and bats, were decorated and used to decorate in every conceivable way. Many of the ladies wore costumes made in their favorite club colors. Gifts poured in from every quarter. Among the many donations received was a $500 piano, $200 (pipe-top) organ, $250 sealskin sacque, three sewing-machines, six ranges and stoves, desks, writing cabinet, bookcase, Remington typewriter, silverware from Tiffany of New York, fancy goods from A. G. Spalding & Bro. and Peck & Snyder, of New York, and hundreds of smaller and equally handsome gifts.

The fair realized from the sales of goods about $8,500; this, with the handsome donation of a cheque for $1,000 from Sir Donald A. Smith, who kindly presided at the opening, and a cheque of $500 from Mr. R. B. Angus, will make the total result about $10,000, a very satisfactory week’s work, and a gratifying result to the ladies interested in the association, who worked so faithfully and steadfastly to achieve this great success.

In order to show that the members had brains as well as muscles, a literary magazine entitled “Athletic Leaves,” with original articles from a dozen of the members, was published under the editorship of Messrs. Baylis and Whyte. Three thousand copies were issued to serve as a souvenir of the fair, some $800 being made for the fair out of the venture. Where all worked well it would be invidious to particularize. Both the ladies’ and gentlemen’s committee of each section did everything in their power to make the event a success; the brunt and responsibility, however, devolved on the lady presidents and Executive Committee, and how well they did their allotted parts the result testifies.

BASEBALL.

~Captain Willard~, of the Harvard University nine, has begun work. The positions left vacant by Campbell and Gallivan at shortstop and second base, respectively, will be difficult to fill, as these men were perhaps the strongest all-round players on the team. Henshaw will probably again go behind the bat, and with Bates will make a first-class battery. Of the latter great things are expected. He has all the curves and a wonderful command of the ball.

* * * * *

~The~ New York League Club and the St. Louis American Association, the respective champions of the two organizations, competed in an annual series of games for the baseball championship of the world in October, the series consisting of ten games, four of which were played in New York, four in St. Louis, and one each in Brooklyn and Philadelphia. The League team won the pennant by their victories in six out of the first eight games played, their success being largely due to the effective battery work of Keefe and Ewing, and the splendid infield play of shortstop Ward. Here is the full record of the series:

Oct. 16. New York vs. St. Louis, at New York. Pitchers, Keefe and King. 2--1

“ 17. St. Louis vs. New York, at New York. Pitchers, Chamberlain and Welch. 3--0

“ 18. New York vs. St. Louis, at New York. Pitchers, Keefe and King. 4--2

“ 19. New York vs. St. Louis, at Brooklyn. Pitchers, Crane and Chamberlain. 6--3

“ 20. New York vs. St. Louis, at New York. Pitchers, Keefe and King. 6--4

“ 22. New York vs. St. Louis, at Philadelphia. Pitchers, Welch and Chamberlain. 12--5

“ 24. St. Louis vs. New York, at St. Louis. Pitchers, King and Crane. 7--5

“ 25. New York vs. St. Louis, at St. Louis. Pitchers, Keefe and Chamberlain. 11--3

“ 26. St. Louis vs. New York, at St. Louis. Pitchers, King and George. 14--11

“ 27. St. Louis vs. New York, at St. Louis. Pitchers, Chamberlain and Titcomb. 18--7

Total games won: New York 6, St. Louis 4. Total runs scored: New York 64, St. Louis 60. Batting average: New York 275, St. Louis 223. Fielding average: New York 930, St. Louis 918. Keefe pitched in four victories and no defeats; Welch and Crane in one victory and one defeat each, and King and Chamberlain in two victories and three defeats, and George and Titcomb in one defeat each. The financial result of the series of contests was as follows: Receipts in New York, $15,406.50; St. Louis, $5,612; Philadelphia, $1,781; Brooklyn, $1,562. Total, $24,362.10. Expenses, $8,000. Amount cleared, $16,382. Messrs. Gaffney and John Kelly acted as umpires under the double umpire rule of one official judging the balls and strikes, and the other the base running.

* * * * *

~The~ fall exhibition contests between the League and the American clubs in October resulted as follows:

ASSOCIATION.

_Victories._ _Defeats._

Brooklyn 5 0 St. Louis 5 6 Baltimore 1 1 Cincinnati 1 2 Athletics 1 2 -- -- Totals 13 11

LEAGUE.

_Victories._ _Defeats._

New York 6 5 Pittsburgh 2 1 Philadelphia 2 1 Indianapolis 1 3 Washington 0 3 -- -- Totals 11 13

* * * * *

~The~ contest for the diamond medal offered by the Cincinnati _Enquirer_, for the longest throw of the season, resulted in the success of shortstop Williamson of the Chicago Club. The best on record was John Hatfield’s throw of 400 feet 7 inches, made over a dozen years ago. Crane, the pitcher of the New York Club, claimed to have exceeded this by two feet, but the trial was not officially recorded. John Hatfield stated recently that he once threw a ball 420 feet, but it was not officially scored and was never counted. The record of the official contest of 1888 is as follows:

_Player._ _Club._ _Distance thrown._

1. Williamson Chicago 399 ft. 11 in. 2. Griffin Baltimore 372 8 3. Stovey Athletic 369 2 4. Vaughn Louisville 366 9 5. Burns Brooklyn 364 6 6. O’Brien Brooklyn 361 5 7. Collins Brooklyn 354 6 8. Tebeau Cincinnati 353 0 9. Gilks Cleveland 343 11 10. Reilly Cincinnati 341 6 11. Brennan Kansas City 339 6 12. Stricker Cleveland 337 8 13. Foutz Brooklyn 335 4 14. Davis Kansas City 333 6 15. O’Connor Cincinnati 330 0 16. McTamany Kansas City 327 6

CANOEING.

~The~ Princeton College Canoe Club was organized October 4, 1888. The following officers were elected: Commodore, A. N. Bodine, ’90; vice-commodore, C. Agnew, ’91; secretary, George Trotter, ’91; treasurer, G. Agnew, ’91. All the members of the club are students. It is probable the Princeton canoeists will apply for admittance to the American Canoe Association in the Spring.

* * * * *

~The~ Pequot Canoe Club elected the following Board of Officers: Commodore, W. A. Borden; vice-president, T. P. Sherwood; secretary-treasurer, F. P. Lewis; measurer, E. C. Bogert; Rev. A. N. Lewis, chaplain.

COURSING.

~The~ Hempstead Coursing Club began its second season at Cedarhurst, November 3. The morning was bright and clear, but before the sport commenced rain came on, and it continued to shower until the afternoon. As was the case last year, rabbits were scarce. The law allowed their capture only since November 1. The consequence was the demand exceeded the supply, and several nominators “scratched” their entries. As a whole the rabbits were a fairly good lot.

The officers were: Judge, Mr. A. Belmont Purdy; breed judge, J. E. Cowdin; field steward, O. W. Bird; flag steward, J. L. Kernochan; secretary, A. Belmont, Jr. and slipper, German Hopkins. The following is a summary of the events:

NOVICE STAKES.

An open sweepstakes for fox-terriers of 20 lb. or under, at $2 each, play or pay, with a silver cup presented by Mr. James L. Kernochan to the winner. The runner up to receive 25 per cent. of the stakes and a pewter mug. Fifteen entries.

_First Round._--J. B. Kernochan nominates A. Belmont Purdy’s white, black and tan dog Pincher, who beat T. B. Burnham’s white, black and tan dog Jack. L. and W. Rutherford’s white dog Warner Spider beat S. D. Ripley’s white dog Bayonet. H. B. Richardson’s white, black and tan dog Meadow Brook Jack beat E. Kelly’s white and tan dog Earl Leicester. H. P. Frothingham’s white and tan dog Mugwump, C. Rathbone’s white, black and tan dog Beverwyck Tippler, F. O. Beach’s white, black and tan bitch Media, Blemton Kennel’s white and tan bitch Tiara, and O. W. Bird’s white, black and tan bitch Warren Jingle had byes.

_Second Round._--Pincher beat Mugwump, Beverwyck Tippler beat Warren Spider, Tiara beat Media, and Meadow Brook Jack beat Warren Jingle.

_Third Round._--Beverwyck Tippler beat Pincher, Meadow Brook Jack beat Tiara.

_Final Round._--Beverwyck Tippler beat Meadow Brook Jack.

ROCKAWAY CUP.

An open sweepstakes for fox-terriers of 18 lb. or under, at $3 each, play or pay, with a cup presented by the Rockaway Steeplechase Association for the winner. The runner-up to receive 25 per cent. of the stakes and a pewter mug. 19 entries.

_First Round._--L. and W. Rutherford’s white dog Warren Spider beat T. B. Burnham’s white, black and tan dog Jack. C. Rathbone’s white, black and tan dog Beverwyck Tippler beat A. T. French’s white and tan dog Blemton Volunteer. J. B. Kernochan nominates A. Belmont Purdy’s white, black and tan dog Pincher, who beat F. O. Beach’s white, black and tan bitch Medice. O. W. Bird’s white, black and tan bitch Warren Jingle beat H. P. Frothingham’s white and tan bitch Lottery. H. V. R. Kennedy’s white, black and tan dog Antic beats Blemton Kennel’s white, black and tan dog Regent Fox. Edward Kelly’s white, black and tan bitch Votary a bye.

_Second Round._--Warren Spider beats Votary, Beverwyck Tippler beats Pincher, Antic beats Warren Jingle.

_Third Round._--Warren Spider beats Tippler, Antic a bye.

_Final Round._--Antic beats Warren Spider, after an undecided.

COTTON-TAIL STAKES.

An open sweepstakes for fox-terriers of 16 lb. or under, at $2 each, play or pay, with $20 added, to the winner; the runner up to receive 60 per cent. of the stakes and a pewter mug. Sixteen entries.

L. and W. Rutherford’s white and tan bitch Warren Dainty beat H. P. Frothingham’s white and tan bitch Lottery. C. Rathbone’s white, black and tan bitch Blemton Lilly beat Blemton Kennel’s white, black and tan dog Dusky Trap. A. T. French’s white and tan dog Blemton Volunteer, E. D. Morgan’s white, black and tan dog Tancred, L. and W. Rutherford’s white dog Warren Discord, and James Mortimer’s white, black and tan bitch Suffolk Syren had byes.

_Second Round._--Warren Dainty beat Tancred, Blemton Lilly beat Blemton Volunteer, Warren Discord beat Suffolk Syren.

_Third Round._--Warren Dainty beat Blemton Lilly; Warren Discord a bye.

_Deciding Round._--Warren Discord beat Warren Dainty.

CRICKET.

~The~ most successful cricket club in Brooklyn in 1888 was the Manhattan Club. The club’s elevens played thirty-two matches, of which they won twenty-seven, lost four, and had one drawn. Their first eleven won twenty-six and lost but three, while their second eleven won one, lost one, and had one drawn. The record of the leading contests of the club is as follows:

DATE. CONTESTING CLUBS. RESULT OF CONTEST. SCORE.

May 21 Manhattan vs. Won with 10 wickets Young America to spare 88 to 86

May 30 Staten Island vs. Lost by score of first Manhattan inning 70 to 83

July 13 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first Pittsburgh inning 133 to 91

July 28 Staten Island vs. Lost by score of first Manhattan inning 76 to 127

Aug. 15 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first Seabright inning 78 to 62

Sept. 3 Manhattan vs. Won with 10 wickets Newark to spare 125 to 123

Sept. 5 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first Seabright inning 191 to 57

Sept. 12 Manhattan vs. Won by score of first Newark inning 60 to 54

Sept. 29 Manhattan vs. Won with 7 wickets All New York to spare 107 to 77

Besides these leading contests the Manhattans defeated the Albions three times, the New Yorks twice, the Amateur League twice, and the New Haven, St. George, Alma, Cosmopolitan and Claremont clubs once each, and lost one game each with the New Havens and Cosmopolitans, they having drawn games with the Almas and New Yorkers. The second eleven had a drawn game with the Staten Islanders, and won one and lost one with the Brooklyns.

The club had its annual meeting in October, and elected the following officers for 1889: Edwin C. Squance, president; H. S. Jewell, first vice-president; B. H. Beasley, second vice-president; J. G. Davis, secretary; S. E. Hosford, treasurer; S. J. Fisher, captain; H. S. Jewell, sub-captain; S. J. Fisher, M. R. Cobb, J. E. West, H. Coyne, executive committee.

* * * * *

~The~ Peninsular Cricket Club, of Detroit, Mich., elected the following officers for the ensuing year: President, C. R. Emery; vice-president, D. F. O’Brien; secretary, J. J. Dodds; treasurer, W. S. Waugh; managing committee, A. W. Anderson, R. Humffreys-Roberts, F. D. C. Hinchman, A. C. Bowman, Dr. W. R. McLaren and Dudley Smith; match committee, F. Bamford, R. B. Ridgley, E. F. Laible.

CYCLING.

~The~ total number of members in the L. A. W. ranks is 11,804.

* * * * *

~An~ International Cycle Show is to take place in Leipsic next February.

* * * * *

~R. T. McDaniel~ of the Wilmington, Del., Wheel Club, has one of the big records for 1888. He has traveled 5,300 miles. His largest mileage in one day was 115½ miles.

* * * * *

~The~ cyclists of New Orleans will participate in the coming Mardi Gras festivities. They will endeavor to present the characters of Mother Goose’s melodies astride of bicycles.

* * * * *

~T. W. Busst~, of Victoria, Australia, now holds the title of ten-mile champion of Australia. He won it recently at the centennial championship meeting of the Australian Bicycle Union at Sydney.

* * * * *

~George B. Thayer~, of Hartford, in five months covered over 2,600 miles in Europe on his bicycle.

* * * * *

~G. P. Mills~, the English rider, succeeded some time back in lowering the 100-mile tricycle record to 6h. 58m. 54s. During October, ’88, he covered fifty miles on a tricycle in 2h. 53m. 25s., or 41m. 22s. better than that for ordinary bicycle record.

* * * * *

~A. D. Peck~, of the Massachusetts Club, has a cycling record to be proud of. He began wheeling in ’83, and since then has gone over 17,863 miles of road. Each year’s records were as follows: 1883, 1,760 miles; 1884, 1,840 miles; 1885, 2,785 miles; 1886, 4,404 miles; 1887, 4,002 miles; 1888, 3,102 miles. It is doubtful if there is another Boston wheelman who can show such a record.

* * * * *

~At~ the first century run of the Kings County Wheelmen’s Club, the starters were M. L. Bridgman, Harry Hall, Jr., John Bensinger, Robert Hipson, Frank Douglas, and three others. They had selected a course which was 7¾ miles roundabout, and they proposed to make the circuit of this as many times as possible. John Bensinger did the best work of the day. He not only made his 100 miles, but his total score was 102 5-8.

* * * * *

~I. W. Shurman~, a cyclist of Lynn, Mass., with a national reputation as a hill-climber, started one fine morning in October last at the foot of the Orange Mountain to beat Fred Connigsby’s record of climbing the hill thirteen times without dismounting in 3h. 15m. 45s. Shurman made the attempt and succeeded, accomplishing the feat in 3h. 5m., beating Connigsby’s record by about 10m. Not content with that, Shurman continued, and made twenty-four round trips, a distance of forty-eight miles, in 6h. 24m. 15s., thus establishing a record which doubtless will hold good some time.

* * * * *

~The~ 24-hour road-riding craze has struck Chicago wheelmen, and record after record has been going up. John Mason has the latest--277 miles.

* * * * *

~During~ the winter months the Manhattan Bicycle Club will hold a smoking concert every Wednesday evening.

* * * * *

~The~ five-mile Challenge Cup of the Pennsylvania Bicycle Club can be raced for by members of that organization once a month.

* * * * *

~Members~ of the Racing Board of the League of American Wheelmen have had assigned to them by Chairman Davol the following territory:

Col. George Sanderson, Scranton, Pa., in charge of New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware.

George S. Atwater, 1206 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D. C., in charge of Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Tennessee and Kentucky.

George Collister, care of Davis, Hunt & Co., Cleveland, O., in charge of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa.

W. M. Brewster, 309 Olive Street, St. Louis, Mo., in charge of Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, California and Oregon.

H. H. Hodgson, New Orleans, La., in charge of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas, Texas and Nevada.

The chairman will have charge of the district embracing the New England States.

* * * * *

~The~ second annual handicap road race of the Harvard Bicycle Club was held November 8 over the ten-mile course through North Cambridge, West Somerville and Arlington. The day was raw and windy, and the road rough, yet the time was very good. Of the twenty-two entries only ten appeared, of whom eight finished. The order of the finish, with the handicaps and actual time, was as follows:

1. Barron ’91, 7 min. handicap, 38 min. 45 sec. actual time. 2. Greenleaf ’92, 3 “ “ 35 “ “ 3. Holmes ’92, 7 “ “ 39 “ 5 “ “ 4. Bailey ’91, 2½ “ “ 34 “ 45 “ “ 5. Rogers ’90, 6 “ “ 38 “ 30 “ “ 6. Kelley L. S. 6 “ “ 38 “ 45 “ “ 7. Saunders ’89, 7 “ “ not taken. 8. Davis ’91, scratch “

Davis was so heavily handicapped that he was practically out of the race from the beginning.

FOOTBALL.

~The~ Trinity College team defeated the Stevens Institute team, November 3, on the St. George Grounds, at Hoboken, by a score of 6 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ Cornell team beat the team of Union College, 30 to 4, at Ithaca, November 3. The Cornell footballers played a very good game during the season.

* * * * *

~The~ first championship game of the season of the Intercollegiate Football Association games--between Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Wesleyan, University of Pennsylvania--was played November 3, on the Field, at New Haven, between Yale and the University of Pennsylvania. The latter team did not show the strong game that had characterized her playing in the other contests this year. Yale, on the other hand, showed some improvement. In the first half Yale scored 28 points, to which 30 were added in the second half, due in great part to the excellent playing of Wallace, McClung and Wurtenberg, thus defeating her opponents by a score of 58 to 0. For Pennsylvania the best playing was done by Hulme, Wagenhurst, Cash and Hill. The positions were as follows: _Yale_--rushers, Wallace, Hartwell, Newell, Corbin (captain), Pike, Heffelfinger, Stagg; quarter-back, Wurtenberg; half-backs, McClung and S. Morrison; full-back, McBride. _University of Pennsylvania_--rushers, Wagenhurst, Harris, Spaeth, Meirs, Rhitt, Cash, Van Loon; quarter-back, McCance; half-backs, Hulme (captain) and Price; full-back, Hill. Referee, Walter C. Camp, Yale, ’80. Umpire, H. Hodge, Princeton, ’86.

* * * * *

~The~ second championship game was played on the Polo Grounds, November 6, between Princeton and Wesleyan, before a large number of people. Many serious faults in Princeton’s play were made evident. Some of the most noticeable were high tackling, losing the ball when tackled, and failure to get in a kick when needed. Bovaird played a splendid game, Channing and Black, the half-backs, also did well. In the first half Princeton made 20 points and in the second 24, defeating Wesleyan by a total score of 44 to 0. The elevens played as follows: _Princeton_--rushers, S. Hodge, Cook, Irvine, George, Janeway, Cowan (captain), Bovaird; quarter-back, R. Hodge; half-backs, Black and Channing; full-back, Ames. _Wesleyan_--rushers, Floy, Glenn, Heath, Gardner, Eaton, Pierce, Crane; quarter-back, Eggleston; half-backs, McDonald and Hall; full-back, Slayback.

* * * * *

~One~ of the most stubbornly fought contests in the history of interscholastic football took place November 10, at Andover, N. H., the occasion being the annual football game between Phillips Exeter and Phillips Andover academies. For thirty-five minutes after the game began the ball stayed near the centre of the field. Both teams played a hard game, but were so evenly matched that neither could gain any appreciable advantage. At last a fumble by Andover allowed Stickney, of Exeter, to secure the ball with a clear field before him. He was downed about five yards from the line, and a rally on the part of the Andover eleven prevented Exeter from making a touch-down, and after four downs, having failed to advance the ball five yards, it went to Andover. Bliss got the ball, and dodging the entire Exeter eleven ran almost the entire length of the field, scoring a touch-down for Andover, from which a goal was kicked. Score at end of half time, 6 to 0 in favor of Andover. In the second half the ball was kept in Exeter’s territory, and a short time before the end of the game Upton secured a second touch-down for Andover. No goal. The game ended with this score: Andover, 10 points; Exeter, 0. The teams were made up as follows: _Andover_--rushers, Hunt, Mowry, Coxe, Speer, Upton, Townsend, Gilbert; quarter-back, Owsley; half-backs, C. D. Bliss and L. T. Bliss; full-back, Sprague. _Exeter_--rushers, Hill, Bardwell, Stickney, Beattie, Furman, Erskine, Heffelfinger; quarter-back, Barbour; half-backs, Morse and Graves; full-back, Trafford. Referee, Mr. Finney, Princeton. Umpire, W. J. Badger.

* * * * *

~The~ football teams of the Crescent Athletic Club, of Brooklyn, and of the New York Athletic Club, met on the Polo Grounds, November 3. The New Yorkers played a good game under discouraging circumstances. From the beginning the Crescents had things their own way, although the wind was against them and the sun shone in their faces. Their rush-line was better than that of their opponents. Although the New York men made some brilliant individual plays, they were forced backwards steadily. The game wound up with a score of 30 for the Crescents to 0 for the New York Athletic men. This was the make-up of the teams:

ATHLETIC CLUB. CRESCENT.

W. Scott Rusher P. Lamarche. H. H. Steers Rusher M. Mathews. C. T. Schlesinger Rusher H. Lamarche. James Carter Rusher W. Ford. M. J. Austin Rusher C. Chapman. Eugene Kelly, Jr. Rusher J. Verner. W. Littauer Rusher Warren Smith. W. B. Coster, Jr. Quarter-back Duncan Edwards. Alex. E. Jordan Half-back J. Smith. John P. Thornton Half-back H. Sheldon. W. Lawson Full-back John Lamarche.

Umpire--George Goldie, Jr. Referee--W. R. Thompson.

* * * * *

~A football~ match, under the Rugby rules, was played November 6, at Orange, N. J., between the teams of the Orange Jr. and Clinton football clubs. The Clinton team won by a score of 4 to 0.

* * * * *

~Several~ hundred college men braved the rainstorm, November 10, to witness the championship game between the Harvard and Wesleyan elevens on Jarvis, Cambridge. The ground was wet and slippery. The Harvard team as a whole showed marked improvement, and in the first half played with great determination, scoring 32 points. In the second half, however, the men weakened. The game was only two half-hours long, and the total score was: Harvard, 50 points; Wesleyan, 2. The following men made up the elevens: _Harvard_--rushers, Cumnock, V. Harding, Carpenter, Cranston, Trafford, Davis, Crosby; quarter-back, G. Harding; half-backs, Lee and Porter; full-back, Sears. _Wesleyan_--rushers, Crane Pierce, Eaton, Gardner, Heath, Glenn, Faber; quarter-back, Eggleston; half-backs, Floy and Slayback; full-back, Clark. Mr. Landon, Wesleyan, was referee, and W. H. Corbin, Yale, ’89, umpire.

* * * * *

~Princeton~ and the University of Pennsylvania attempted to play a championship game in Philadelphia, November 10, despite a heavy rain. As it was impossible to forfeit the game, a course of action was agreed upon to the effect that play was to be started and Princeton be allowed to make a touch-down. The game was then to be called, and because of a dispute awarded to Princeton by a score of 4 to 0. The teams were: _Princeton_--rushers, Riggs, Cook, Tredinnick, George, Janeway, Cowan, Bovaird; quarter-back, R. Hodge; half-backs, Black and Channing; back, Ames. _University of Pennsylvania_--rushers, Van Loon, Cash, Wright, Meirs, Gray, Harris, Wagenhurst; quarter-back, Vail; half-backs, Hulme and Valentine; full-back, Hill. Referee, Mr. Price; umpire, Mr. Corwin.

* * * * *

~About~ 5,000 people witnessed the great game between Princeton and Harvard, which was played November 17 on the University Grounds, Princeton. It was perfect football weather. The Harvard men were bothered considerably by the mud which covered the field. Princeton being used to the grounds, played a splendid though somewhat rough game. From the first it was seen that Harvard was overmatched, the heavy rush-line of the orange and black withstanding every onslaught by the crimson. In the first half Princeton secured three touch-downs, but failed in every instance to kick a goal. In the second half, after thirty-five minutes of desperate playing, during which the ball traveled up and down the field, Princeton secured a touch-down and kicked a goal. Harvard, a few minutes later, rushed the ball down the field toward the home goal, and Davis made a touch-down from which a goal was kicked. The result was: Princeton, 18 points; Harvard, 6. This is the team that appeared on the field:

_Harvard_--rushers, V. Harding, Davis, Trafford, Cranston, Carpenter, Woodman, Cumnock; quarter-back, G. Harding; half-backs, Porter and Lee; full-back, Sears (captain).

_Princeton_--rushers, Riggs, Cook, Irvine, George, Janeway, Cowan (captain), Bovaird; quarter-back, R. Hodge; half-backs, Mowry and Black; full-back, Ames. Mr. W. C. Camp, Yale, ’80, was referee, and Mr. W. H. Corbin, captain Yale eleven, for the first half, and Mr. E. L. Richards, Yale, for the second half, were the umpires.

* * * * *

~On~ the Yale field at New Haven the Yale eleven ran up what is thus far the largest score of the season, in a championship game with Wesleyan, November 17. Although the latter eleven played an unusually good game, it could not resist the excellent team and individual work on the part of the Yale men. Gill and Stagg distinguished themselves, as did Heffelfinger and Wurtenberg. The men were arranged as follows: _Yale_--rushers, Stagg, Hartwell, Woodruff, Newell, Heffelfinger, Gill, Wallace; quarter-back, Wurtenberg; half-backs, McBride and McClung; full-back, Bull. _Wesleyan_--rushers, Floy, Glenn, Heath, Gardner, Eaton, Johnson, Crane; quarter-back, Eggleston; half-backs, Hall and McDonald; full-back, Slayback. Referee, Landon, of Wesleyan; umpire, H. E. Peabody, of Harvard. Score: Goals, 11-65 points; touchdowns, 8-32 points; goal from field, 1-5 points; safety by Wesleyan, 2 points. Total, 105 points.

* * * * *

~Harvard~ defeated the University of Pennsylvania November 19, after a rough battle in mud and water, on the University Grounds, at Philadelphia, Pa. Cumnock, Sears and Porter played a splendid game for Harvard, and Wagenhurst, Hulme and Hill did good work for Pennsylvania. The score was 42 to 0 in favor of Harvard. The teams were: _Harvard_--rushers, Crosby, Davis, Longstreth, Cranston, Trafford, Woodman, Cumnock; quarter-back, G. Harding; half-backs, Porter and V. Harding; full-back, Sears. _University of Pennsylvania_--rushers, Wagenhurst, Sypher, Tunis, Meirs, Bowser, Cash, Ziegler; quarter-back, Church; half-backs, Hulme and Colladay; full-back, Hill. Referee, R. N. Corwin, Yale, ’86; umpire, L. Price, Princeton, ’87.

* * * * *

~What~ was undoubtedly the best game of the season was played on the Polo Grounds, November 24, between Vale and Princeton, in the presence of about 15,000 spectators. The day was admirably suited to football, and the slight east wind was not strong enough to materially aid either side. The teams were composed as follows:

~Yale.~

F. W. Wallace, ’89 Left end rusher Weight, 150 C. O. Gill, ’89 Left tackle “ 170 W. W. Heffelfinger, ’91 S. Left guard “ 192 W. H. Corbin, ’89, capt. Centre “ 185 G. W. Woodruff, ’89 Right guard “ 183 W. C. Rhodes, ’91 Right tackle “ 164 A. A. Stagg, T. S. Right end rusher “ 150 W. C. Wurtenberg, ’89 S. Quarter-back “ 138 W. P. Graves, ’91 Left half-back “ 154 S. L. McClung, ’92 Right half-back “ 152 W. S. Bull, P. G. Full-back “ 161

~Princeton.~

R. E. Speer, ’89 Left end rusher Weight, 166 H. W. Cowan, ’88 Left tackle “ 179 H. K. Janeway, ’90 Left guard “ 203 W. J. George, ’89 Centre “ 179 W. M. Irvine, ’88 Right guard “ 166 J. F. Cook, ’89 Right tackle “ 174 D. Bovaird, Jr., ’89 Right end rusher “ 158 R. M. Hodge, P. G. Quarter-back “ 134 R. H. Channing, Jr., ’90 Left half-back “ 141 J. Black, ’92 Right half-back “ 168 K. L. Ames, ’90 Full-back “ 150

Yale’s rush line averaged 170 4-7 pounds, and the whole team 163 6-11, while Princeton averaged 175 in the rush line and 164 9-11 pounds in the whole team.

Mr. W. A. Brooks, Jr., Harvard, was referee, and Mr. Fred Fisk, Harvard, umpire.

Play was begun at 2.22, Princeton having the ball and Yale the east goal. Princeton opened with the V play, and at first gained ground, but a few of these attacks seemed to weaken their rush line and Yale successfully opposed the human battering-rams. There followed next a great deal of open play, in which Cowan, Black, Janeway and Ames distinguished themselves for Princeton, while Wallace, Gill, Corbin, and McClung did admirable work for Yale. The kicking of Bull was superb, and his excellent judgment in placing the ball aided Yale materially. Gradually the ball was forced into Princeton’s territory and several long punts and drop-kicks by Bull from the field landed the ball back of Princeton’s line. At last Yale secured the ball on the ten-yard line, it was passed to Bull, who succeeded in kicking a goal, being enabled to do so by the splendid blocking of the rush line. Time, 35m.

From the kick-off the ball was again forced toward the Princeton goal, and when half time was called the ball was on the five-yard line. Score at half time: 5 points to 0 in Yale’s favor.

Second half.--Yale had the ball and played against the wind. Princeton showed renewed strength, and the play continued near the middle of the field. For twenty-five minutes neither side could gain any great advantage, but after hard work on both sides Princeton was forced back. Wurtenberg was disqualified, McClung taking his place at quarter, while Harvey was taken on as half-back. Good rushing by their half-backs gained about forty yards for Princeton. Yale then secured the ball, and a kick sent it well into Princeton’s territory. Ames kicked, and Harvey made one of the longest and most successful runs of the day, passing nearly all the Princeton rushers. Strong rushes by Heffelfinger advanced the ball twenty yards. Cowan was disqualified and Riggs substituted. The ball was near the Princeton line, and attempts by Yale to force it over having failed, Bull was given another opportunity, and kicked a second goal from the field. But a few moments remained for play, and, with the ball in the centre of the field, time was called. Score at the end of the second half: 10 points for Yale; for Princeton, 0.

The most noticeable feature of the game was the open play of Yale. Princeton’s strong rush line, while doing admirable work, was not able to take advantage of opportunities as quickly as should have been the case. Yale was too quick, and her men were on the ball before the Princeton’s half-backs could get started.

In winning this game Yale won the championship for 1888.

* * * * *

~The~ last game of the intercollegiate football series was played Thanksgiving Day, on the Polo Grounds, between Wesleyan and the University of Pennsylvania. As both teams were evenly matched a close game resulted. Walter Camp was referee, and Richard M. Hodge was umpire. The teams, as they lined up at 2.30, were as follows: _Pennsylvania_--rushers, Wagenhurst, Sypher, Dewey, Savage, Bowser, Cash, Ziegler; quarter-back, Church; half-backs, Hulme and Colladay; full-back, Hill. _Wesleyan_--rushers, Floy, Glenn, Heath, Gardner, Eaton, Gibson, Crane; quarter-back, Opdyke; half-backs, Manchester and McDonald; full-back, Slayback.

The first half was marked by a very fierce style of play, and numerous scrimmages resulted in more or less injury to the players. After twenty-five minutes Ziegler succeeded in making a touch-down for Pennsylvania, from which a goal was kicked. When time was called at the end of the first half no additional points had been made, though Wesleyan had tried desperately to equal the score. This she succeeded in doing in the second half. However, after that Pennsylvania rushed well, and the ball seldom went out of Wesleyan’s territory, and at the end of the last forty-five minutes she had scored 12 points more, winning the game by 18 points to 6 for Wesleyan. Altogether it was one of the roughest games played this year.

* * * * *

~In~ the New England Intercollegiate Football Association a series of interesting games has been played as follows:

Oct. 27. At Boston--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 48; Amherst, 0.

Nov. 7. At Amherst--Williams, 53; Amherst, 0.

Nov. 10. At Hanover, N. H.--Dartmouth, 30; Technology, 0.

Nov. 14. At Hanover, N. H.--Dartmouth, 36; Williams, 6.

Nov. 17. At Williamstown, Mass.--Williams, 42; Stevens Institute, 4.

Nov. 19. At Williamstown, Mass.--Stevens, 30; Dartmouth, 0.

* * * * *

~K. L. Ames~, ’90, the famous full-back, has been elected captain of the Princeton team for 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ Intercollegiate football record is as follows:

A: Yale. B: Princeton. C: Harvard. D: University of Penn. E: Wesleyan.

---------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----- ~Clubs.~ | A | B | C | D | E | Won. ---------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+----- Yale | -- | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 4 Princeton | 0 | -- | 1 | 1 | 1 | 3 Harvard | 0 | 0 | -- | 1 | 1 | 2 University of Pennsylvania | 0 | 0 | 0 | -- | 1 | 1 Wesleyan | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | -- | 0 +----+----+----+----+----+----- Lost | 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | -- ---------------------------+----+----+----+----+----+-----

* * * * *

~Yale~, last fall, made the largest total score ever made by a Yale eleven--698 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ three highest scores made this season on the football field were: November 3, Harvard vs. Amherst, 102 to 0; same day, Princeton vs. Johns Hopkins, 104 to 0; November 17, Yale vs. Wesleyan, 105 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ annual Cornell-Lehigh football game was played in Elmira, November 29, resulting in the defeat of Cornell by a score of 4 to 0. The grounds never presented a worse appearance, and the mud was fully five inches deep, with a pool of water covering one-half the area of the territory. The game was called at three o’clock, and Lehigh won the ball. In ten minutes she had secured a touch-down, but failed to kick a goal. Then Cornell played better and got the ball into Lehigh’s territory. At one time she was within a few feet of the line, but by tremendous exertions Lehigh prevented Cornell from scoring, and when time was called for the first half, the score was 4 to 0 in favor of Lehigh. In the second half no scoring was done, though Cornell secured a touch-down, which was not allowed by the referee. The game was thus won by Lehigh, 4 to 0, although this has been protested by Cornell, who claim that the game should go to them, by a score of 8 to 4. Mr. Ray Tompkins, Yale, ’84, was referee, and H. M. Morton, Lafayette, ’87, was umpire.

* * * * *

~A. J. Cumnock~, ’91, has been elected captain of the Harvard team for 1889.

* * * * *

~William C. Rhodes~, ’91, has been elected captain of the Yale team for 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ class games at Columbia College resulted as follows: November 30, the class of ’92 defeated ’91 by a score of 12 to 8. The same day, ’90 defeated ’89 by a score of 30 to 0. December 1, the deciding game was played between ’92 and ’90. The juniors outplayed the Freshmen, and won by a score of 28 to 0. C. H. Mapes, of Columbia, was umpire, and Mr. W. Smith, of the Crescents, was referee.

* * * * *

~Three~ thousand persons, November 29, witnessed what was undoubtedly the greatest football event that ever took place in the West. The game was between a team made up of Chicago and other college men, most of whom had played in some one of the famous Yale, Harvard or Princeton teams, and an eleven representing the present students at the Ann Arbor University of Michigan.

The game took place on the grounds of the Chicago Baseball Club. It was a victory for the Chicagos by a score of 28 to 4. Michigan had the kick-off, and the game started with the teams in position as follows:

MICHIGAN. POSITION. CHICAGO.

J. Van Inwegan Right end A. Farwell. S. S. Bradley Right tackle H. Hallin. W. E. Malley Right guard B. B. Lamb, Capt. H. M. Prettyman Centre F. G. Peters. R. W. Beach Left guard E. L. Burke. R. E. Hagle Left tackle A. S. Bickham. L. MacMillan Left end B. Lockwood. E. L. Smith Quarter-back B. Hamlin. E. W. McPherran Half-back W. Crawford. J. E. Duffy, Capt. Half-back J. Waller. W. D. Ball Goal J. Cowling.

* * * * *

~The~ Cambridge Latin and High School eleven has won the championship in the interscholastic football series of games for the challenge cup, which was donated by a number of Harvard men to encourage football playing in the preparatory schools of Boston and vicinity. The cup, which is a very handsome one of solid silver, is between eight and nine inches high and about the same in diameter. The body of the cup resembles in shape half a Rugby football. About the top of the cup is a band of olive leaves in raised silver, and below this is another band on which is placed the name of the cup. Upon the wide space below, which runs round the body of the cup, are morning-glories and leaves raised in silver, the leaves being left blank for the inscriptions of the names of winning teams and players from year to year. At some distance below this is an imitation of a ribbon in repoussé work, which runs around the cup and twines about the handles, and on which are the names of the donors. The cup rests on four lion-claws in heavy silver, and in each claw is a tiny football.

* * * * *

~Unfortunately~ the Yale and Harvard elevens did not meet during the season. This was due to the refusal of the Harvard faculty to allow the Harvard eleven to play Yale on the Polo Grounds on Thanksgiving Day. Yale adhered to the strict letter of the constitution, which fixed the Polo Grounds as the place where the championship game had to be played.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard Freshmen defeated the Yale Freshmen, December 1, on Jarvis Field, Cambridge, Mass., in the presence of a large audience, by a score of 36 to 4. Lee, of Harvard, played a remarkable game, as did Cranston, of the same eleven, and McClung and Heffelfinger for Yale.

* * * * *

~Lehigh~ is tied with the University of Pennsylvania in the race for the championship of Pennsylvania. Both have won two games and lost one, but in playing against last year’s champion, Lafayette, Lehigh won both games, while the University of Pennsylvania lost one of them. It would thus seem as if Lehigh had the superior team and the better claim to the championship.

* * * * *

~The~ Advisory Committee of the Intercollegiate Football Association met at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, Saturday evening, December 1. R. M. Hodge, of Princeton, presided. Yale was represented by W. C. Camp, Wesleyan by H. H. Beatty, and the University of Pennsylvania by W. S. Harvey. Harvard had no representative. Inasmuch as there was no protest entered as to the championship, it was awarded to Yale without further action.

In considering the rules of the game the committee took occasion to define the rule with respect to disqualifying a player for roughness and foul tackling. It was determined that the phrase “unnecessary roughness” included jumping on a prostrate player with knees merely, and that the disqualifying of Cowan and Wurtenberg was needless, because they were not breaking the rule as defined by the committee. The next meeting will be in March, for the purpose of arranging a set of rules to be presented to the convention of the Football Association, which will take place the following month.

ICE-YACHTING.

~In~ connection with Colonel Norton’s article on “Ice-yachts,” the following record of all the races sailed for the challenge pennant is kindly furnished by Commodore Roosevelt, to whom the author is indebted for much valuable information, and for the illustrations that accompany the article:

Regattas for Challenge Pennant of America, open to all comers:

1881, March 5, at New Hamburgh, N. Y., Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club challenging New Hamburgh Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Phantom_, N. H. I. Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 57m. 14s.

1883, February 6, at New Hamburgh, Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club challenging New Hamburgh Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Avalanche_, P. I. Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 57m.

1833, February 23, at Poughkeepsie, N. Y., North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Jack Frost_, P. I. Y. C. Course, 25 miles; time, 1h. 14m. 35s.

1884, February 9, at Poughkeepsie, N. Y., North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Haze_, P. I. Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 1h. 5m. 30s.

1885, February 14, at Poughkeepsie, New Hamburgh Ice-Yacht Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Haze_, P. I. Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 1h. 1m. 15s.

1885, February 18, at New Hamburgh, N. Y., North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Northern Light_, P. I. Y. C. Course, 20 miles; time, 1h. 8m. 42s.

1887, February 14, at Poughkeepsie, Hudson River Ice-Yacht Club challenging Poughkeepsie Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Jack Frost_, H. R. I. Y. C. Course, 16 miles; time, 43m. 40s.

1888, at Crum Elton, North Shrewsbury Ice-Yacht Club challenging Hudson River Ice-Yacht Club. Won by the _Icicle_, H. R. I. Y. C. Course, 12 miles; time, 34m. 50s.

KENNEL.

~At~ the meeting of the Board of Governors of the New Jersey Kennel Club, held in Jersey City recently, the Bench Show Committee reported progress. So far nothing has been decided as to the building in which the show is to be held. It is probable, however, that the Oakland Rink will be selected. It is centrally located, and is well known all over New Jersey and the Heights. Mr. Peshall expressed his intention of handing in his resignation at the next meeting as delegate to the A. K. C. He is the oldest delegate, and, believing in rotation, wants to make room for another member of the N. J. K. C. He is of opinion that it would be for the good of the A. K. C. if delegates were elected to serve for a stipulated period, not to exceed two years. This would bring new material into the management of the A. K. C., and would help to dispel the impression existing in the minds of many that the club is managed by a clique.

* * * * *

~A meeting~ of the Connecticut State Kennel Club was held at Bridgeport, October 30, A. R. Kyle in the chair. A number of applications for membership were received and acted upon; constitution and by-laws were adopted, and the following executive committee appointed: John White (chairman), Bridgeport; E. Sheffield Porter, New Haven; A. R. Kyle, South Norwalk; A. R. Crowell, Campville; Dr. Burk, South Norwalk; Samuel Banks, Bridgeport; Sherman Hubbard, Bridgeport. Also the following bench show committee: W. D. Peck, New Haven; A. R. Crowell, Campville; E. F. Way, Hartford; A. R. Kyle, South Norwalk; Dr. Jas. E. Hair, Bridgeport. It was the most successful meeting the club has held, and from the way the applications for membership are coming in it would seem that the dog-men in all parts of the State were interested in making the club a thorough success.

* * * * *

~Mr. R. P. H. Durkee~, of Chicago, has purchased from Mr. Sidney W. Smith the St. Bernard dog Burns, a well-known prize winner. Mr. Durkee has also purchased the prize-winning bitches Gloriana and Miscabel, from Mr. J. F. Smith, and Chieftainess, V. H. C., at Brighton, from Mr. Edward Durrant. These dogs were selected and bought for Mr. Durkee by Mr. H. L. Goodman, who went to Europe for the purpose of selecting dogs for Mr. Durkee’s kennel.

* * * * *

~A correspondent~ of the French kennel journal _Le Chenil_ recommends this method of measuring a dog’s height: One of my friends, a veterinary surgeon, tells me of a method as simple and ingenious as it is sure, to take a dog’s exact height at shoulder. Take hold of one of the forelegs of the animal, and the dog, forced to support itself on the other leg, holds it out stiffly and does not bend it, as is usually the case when it sees the preparations for measuring. With this precaution the height of a dog varies scarcely an eighth of an inch, while without it the difference is often considerable.

LAWN TENNIS.

~At~ Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y., November 12, Pope and Wilkinson beat Jackson and Crouch in the finals for the college tennis championship, in doubles, by a score of 6-2, 6-4, 5-7.

* * * * *

~The~ Brooklyn Hill Tennis Club finished its handicap tournament on the grounds, Nostrand Avenue and Herkimer Street, Brooklyn, November 1. In the second round of the mixed doubles Miss Shreve and T. W. T. Maxwell defeated Miss and Mr. Hotchkiss by 6-5, 5-6, 6-1. The final round was won by Miss Brush and J. C. Tatum, who defeated Miss Shreve and her partner, 6-3, 6-4, 6-3.

First prize in the ladies’ singles was won by Miss Hanly. She beat Mrs. West in the final round after an exciting contest, 4-6, 6-5, 6-2, 6-3. The final round, gentlemen’s singles, was not finished. Mr. Raymond and Mr. W. Tomes played three sets, the score being in favor of the former, 6-1, 6-1, 5-7. The winner will be decided by lot.

ROD AND GUN.

~The~ Salt Lake (Utah) Sportsman’s Club was incorporated under Utah laws, August 25, 1888. President, M. B. Sowles; vice-president, Thos. J. Almy; secretary and treasurer, H. M. Miller; board of directors, M. B. Sowles, H. M. Miller, Thos. J. Almy, Charles Read, Wm. M. Bradley, I. M. Barratt and Phillip Klipple.

* * * * *

~A gun~ club has been organized at Lost Nation, Ia., under the name of the Lost Nation Gun Club. The officers are: President, L. Scott; vice-president, M. Stevenson; secretary and treasurer, F. M. Frazier; director, F. B. Nichols.

* * * * *

~The~ officers of the Commercial Rifle Club of New Orleans, La., are: President, Frank Dumas; vice-president, Wm. Monrose; treasurer, Charles Barnes; secretary, Geo. C. Hanser; superintendent, Wm. Marquetz.

* * * * *

~October 15, 1888~, the Salt Lake (Utah) Gun Club was organized. President, Wm. M. Bradley; vice-president, Thos. J. Stevens; secretary and treasurer, W. J. De Bruhl; board of directors, W. M. Bradley, T. J. Stevens, W. J. De Bruhl, M. R. Evans, and W. F. Beer.

* * * * *

~In~ shooting for the Founder’s Cup at Harvard, November 1, Messrs. Post and Mackay tied for first place, with a score of 12 out of 15. In shooting off Post won.

* * * * *

~The~ Fly Casters’ Association, of Albany, held a tournament, October 27, which proved very successful. The judges were James H. Manning, Charles B. Andrews and W. W. Byington. There were eleven prizes, which were awarded as follows:

Association class--Thomas W. Olcott, first prize, a Spalding split bamboo rod; W. D. Frothingham, second, a Mills & Son standard split bamboo fly-rod; W. G. Paddock, third, an automatic reel; Howard Paddock, fourth, a Bray fly-book; Dayton Ball, fifth, fifty yards metallic centre-enameled line; B. F. Reese, sixth, two dozen trout flies; Stuart G. Spier, seventh, a trout basket. Amateur Second Class--Chas. A. Gove, first, an L. Levison fly-book; H. A. Goffe, second, a lancewood fly-rod; John M. Quinby, third, a gogebic reel; W. Story, fourth, pocket tackle-case.

* * * * *

~The~ ducking season began, in Pennsylvania, November 1. The lower Delaware and adjacent bays and inlets are said to be swarming with ducks. Extensive preparations have been made in Philadelphia by a club of well-known men, who call themselves “The Innocent Eight,” for an active ducking season. Among the Innocents are: Messrs. Michael B. Andrews, Clarence B. Kugler, Joseph Wright and Colonel William B. Mann. Members of the club have purchased a “rigging” at a cost of $2,000. It contains over a thousand decoys, many sink-boxes, both double and single, and all the improved paraphernalia used in ducking.

* * * * *

~The~ season for ducking opened, in Maryland, November 1. Back, Middle, Gunpowder and Bush rivers are all first-class waters for duck shooting. The best duck shooting in the country is to be found on the flats near the mouth of the Susquehanna River. On these flats grow the choicest celery, which, combined with the shallowness of the water, makes the spot most attractive to the fowl. The delicacy of the food imparts to the ducks a flavor that has given the Havre de Grace canvas-back a world-wide reputation. The State has passed stringent laws governing the flats, and collects quite a revenue from the boats engaged in shooting. A special police-force is maintained to enforce the laws.

ROWING.

~Harvard~ expects to have a rowing tank, similar to the Yale tank, shortly. The old gymnasium will probably be used for the purpose. An effort is also being made to raise funds for a new steam-launch. Harvard rowing men recognize that they must show by deeds that they deserve the support of the college.

All the crews have left the river and are at work in the gymnasium. The university crew is rowing on the machines and pulling chest-weights. The number of candidates is small, but it will be greatly increased after the vacation. With the exception of the freshmen, the class-crews are not in strict training. Eighty-nine played football during the fall for exercise; ’90 and ’91 are taking walks and pulling chest-weights. The freshmen are rowing in the ’varsity room on the machines. They are obliged to be through by five o’clock, and as they have nearly three crews at work, the lack of room is very apparent, and interferes greatly with their work. Their average weight is at present nearly 156 pounds.

* * * * *

~The~ Cornell oarsmen are very ambitious to send out next June an eight-oared crew, which, it is hoped, will beat Columbia, win the “Child’s Cup” for the third and last time, and, if possible, win against Yale. The whole amount needed for the purpose is estimated at $2000; $500 for a new shell, and $1500 for crew and trainer. The Cornell _Era_ recently began raising a fund for this object, and over half the amount is already pledged, and the collections are coming in at the rate of $200 a week. The young women connected with the university have subscribed $100. There is no doubt but that the full amount will be raised. Courtney will train the crew.

* * * * *

~By~ reason of the expense, the class crews of Bowdoin have been given up.

* * * * *

~The~ famous old Atalanta Boat Club has now established winter quarters apart from the boat club, and have settled down in an elegant establishment on Fifth Avenue. The building is arranged and furnished so as to provide every facility for indoor amusement while the water is sealed in icy bonds. The billiard-rooms and bowling-alleys are located in the lower part of the house, and the other apartments are so arranged as to conduce to the comfort and enjoyment of the members.

* * * * *

“~Rock~” ~Kent~, one of the most promising scullers on the Harlem River, is, it is said, about to give up rowing altogether. He is one of the prominent members of the Metropolitan Rowing Club, and his withdrawal from that organization, if the report be true, will be a sad loss.

* * * * *

~The~ Union Boat Club, of Boston, which has a membership list of 200 names, has elected the following officers for 1889: President, Henry Parkman; vice-president, Edward B. Robins; captain, A. Van Courtlandt Van Rensselaer; lieutenant, Warren F. Kellogg; treasurer, Edward D. Blake; secretary, William R. Richards; directors, Arthur B. Ellis, Courtenay Guild, Thornton H. Simmons; election committee, William Appleton, J. F. Bush, Robert Bacon, William S. Eaton, Jr., William S. Hall, James M. Olmstead, Henry T. Spooner, Guy Wilkinson.

SKATING.

~The~ Lachine Skating Club held its second annual meeting recently and elected the following officers: Mr. T. A. Dawes, re-elected honorary president; C. Thos. Danford, president; Albert Dawes, vice-president, and Wm. A. Shackell re-elected secretary-treasurer. The following were selected for the committee: A. P. Bastable, H. K. Danford, J. MacGowan, A. Noad, E. W. H. Phillip and A. Perry. Several new members were elected.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the National Skating Association of England was held at the Bath Hotel, Cambridge, Oct. 27, Mr. Neville Goodman in the chair.

The committee, in their report, congratulated the members on the position of the association. Numerous attempts were made during the past season to bring off the championship race, but when all preparations had been made the changes in the weather upset the arrangements and the meetings had to be abandoned.... The committee were sanguine of being able to pay their way, but this could not be done without gate proceeds. It was pointed out that scarcely any sporting pastime was now participated in without a charge for admission being made, especially when valuable prizes were given. Owing to the paucity of members it was impossible to hold race-meetings without relying upon a “gate” to meet the heavy expenses. Under the present _régime_ this rule would have to be adhered to, but should funds allow, free meetings would be held....

Mr. H. G. Few, R. S. O., Willingham, Cambs, was re-elected treasurer, and Messrs. J. D. Digby and J. Newton Digby were appointed joint honorable secretaries. Baron de Salis, of Holland, was elected an honorary life member.

The chairman, in accordance with notice, brought forward the question of the definition of an amateur; and proposed that in lieu of the present rule the following be adopted: “That an amateur is one who has never competed in a skating contest for a money prize.” This gave rise to discussion, the motion being opposed by the secretary, but it was carried.

SNOW-SHOEING.

~The~ following officers were elected by the Montreal Garrison Artillery Snow-Shoe Club: Hon. presidents, Lieut.-Col. Turnbull and Lieut.-Col. Oswald; Hon. vice-presidents, Major Cole and Capt. Levins; president, Capt. Lewis; vice-presidents, Lieuts. Crathern, Ogilvy and Foy; secretary-treasurer, Staff-Sergeant Cooper; assistant secretary-treasurer, Gunner Wilson. Committee: Lieut. McFarlane, Sergeant-Major Benton, Battery Sergeant-Major Murdock, Sergeant-Major Wilson, Sergeant McDonald, Sergeants Drysdale, Bonet, Pingel, Gunner Cokers, Trumpeter Shaw, Corporal Laurency. Delegates to Council Committee: Captain Lewis, Sergeant-Major Jones, Staff-Sergeant Cooper, Gunner Bremner.

SWIMMING.

~J. Nuttall~, one of the foremost of swimmers in the English amateur ranks, has cast his lot with the professionals, and, in his first race for the 1,000-yard professional championship, which took place at Lambeth Baths, Westminster Bridge Road, London, October 19, he met J. J. Collier, ex-champion; J. Finney, previous holder of the championship, and George Kistler, all first-class swimmers. The men swam in a tank 40 yards long, and Nuttall took the lead directly after the dive, holding it to the finish. Nuttall beat all previous records from the outset, as the following times will show:

*2 lengths 0m. 54s. *4 lengths 1 55½ *6 lengths 3 00½ *8 lengths 4 08½ *10 lengths 5 17 *12 lengths 6 28½ *14 lengths 7 38¼ *16 lengths 8 48½ *18 lengths 10 00 *20 lengths 11 11 *22 lengths 12 25½ *24 lengths 13 40 *25 (1,000 yards) 14 17¼

* Record beaten from the start.

The previous best on record was by Finney, 14m. 43¾s.

TOBOGGANING.

~The~ Essex County Toboggan Club recently elected the following Board of Governors for the season of 1888-’89: John Firth, F. W. Hall, E. P. Hamilton, Charles T. Minton, Clarence D. Newell, John H. Sprague, Louis E. Chandler, Dr. F. A. Levy, Dr. G. B. Dowling, R. G. Hopper, Frank Lyman, D. H. Carstairs, Charles Hendricks, N. B. Woodworth, and C. F. Whiting.

YACHTING.

~The~ schooner-yacht _Brunhilde_, Captain John J. Phelps, owner, started on her second voyage round the globe November 1. Captain Phelps is accompanied by his wife. The crew consists of ten men before the mast. The _Brunhilde_ sailed direct for Bermuda. Captain Phelps has not yet determined how long he proposes to remain away.

* * * * *

~From~ England comes the news that steps have been taken by yachtsmen there as well as on this side of the Atlantic to have a grand international race next May of sloop and cutter yachts in the forty, fifty, and sixty foot classes. It is understood that the Seawanhaka-Corinthian, Eastern and other clubs are arranging with the English clubs for the race, which is to be settled in American waters for prizes independent of the _America’s_ cup.

* * * * *

~As~ we go to press it seems probable that James Coates, Jr., the Scotchman who owns the _Thistle_, will challenge for the _America’s_ cup within thirty days.

* * * * *

~The~ report that another challenge for the _America’s_ cup will shortly be issued from the other side of the Atlantic is again on the rounds. A correspondent of the London _Times_ in Queenstown, Ireland, has heard that the Jamiesons, of Irish whiskey and _Irex_ fame, have been quietly building a large steel sloop, with the end in view of challenging for the _America’s_ cup. Richardson, the designer of the _Irex_, is said to be the designer of the new production. The author of the story has even learned the fact that the intended challenger is to be named the _Shamrock_. Mr. Jamieson has more than once been reported to have designs on the cup, and it is barely possible that a challenge may at some future day emanate from the Royal Irish Yacht Club, of which he is a member.

* * * * *

~The~ winter quarters of the Newark, N. J., Yacht Club are at 740 Broad Street, Newark. The new rooms are cosily fitted up, and members of the club and their friends love to linger in the parlors and spin yarns of the water and about the men who go down to the sea in yachts.

* * * * *

~The~ Harlem Yacht Club a short time ago moved into its new quarters, the old Randall mansion on East 121st Street. It was previously occupied by the Eastern Boulevard Club. The present officers of the club are: Commodore, James T. Lalor; vice-commodore, McEvoy; secretary, T. J. Dempsey; corresponding secretary, W. J. Parker; treasurer, H. M. Jones; measurer, T. P. Bates.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

[_This department of_ ~Outing~ _is devoted to answers to correspondents seeking information on subjects appertaining to all sports._]

_Scot, Boston._--For the game of lawn bowls you must have turf in the finest possible condition. The dimensions of the ground should be about forty-two yards long, and, if possible, the same breadth. There should be ditches at both ends, about twelve inches wide and three inches deep, with a bank about eighteen inches above the level of the lawn, to stop the bowls. The reason why it is advisable to have the ground square, is that one can then change the direction of play and so save the grass.

* * * * *

_Chas. T., Baltimore._--Your horse is probably suffering from irregular teeth. What you describe is called “quidding.” You should have a veterinary surgeon to see to his teeth, and if necessary rasp them down. If it does not come from the teeth, he is probably suffering from catarrh, with sore throat, and when he is swallowing water you will be able to notice a peculiar gulping effort. This, of course, would need treatment.

* * * * *

_Breeder, Buffalo, N. Y._--The New Forest ponies are no good. They have much of the blood of Marsk, the sire of the famous English horse Eclipse, in their veins, but in spite of it they are about as ill-looking animals as one can imagine, with most hideous heads and necks. They are, however, hardy and useful. The best all-round specimens of the Shetland that we have ever seen, certainly in America, are the family of them exhibited by Mr. Pierre Lorillard at the New York Horse-Show. They are of exactly the right stamp for that class of pony, and the stallion, Montreal, was well described as having “the build of a cart-horse and the carriage of a thoroughbred.”

* * * * *

_Matador._--The sword is passed between the skull and the first cervical vertebra, in a perpendicular direction only.

* * * * *

_Fred, H. L., Brooklyn, N. Y._--The best method to render shoes impervious to snow is to apply castor-oil. It must be applied twice, after the boots have been warmed at the fire. Of course, the oil must be used again at intervals, when the leather shows signs of needing it. The best plan is to wash off all blacking first, and apply the oil to the sole as well as the other portions of the shoe.

* * * * *

_R. S. B., Broadway._--The length of the Cambridgeshire course, at Newmarket, England, is 1 mile and 240 yards.

* * * * *

_Gunner, Washington, D. C._--Strictly speaking, the correct plural is with the s; but that letter is very commonly omitted. Indeed, among sportsmen, it may be said that “snipe” is invariably used in the plural as well as the singular sense; but naturalists use the plural “snipes” as meaning the different species of snipe. With woodcocks it is more usual to add the s, but many sportsmen omit it.

* * * * *

_Canine, Hartford, Conn._--(1) Your best plan is to wash the ears out and brush in some green iodide of mercury twice a week. (2) Puppies at the age of three months or so, often show crooked legs with enlarged joints, but these generally come right later.

* * * * *

_Athlete, Cambridge._--You can obtain just the kind of jewelry you require from Shreve, Crump & Low Co., Washington Street, Boston. They also give special attention to designing and making prizes for clubs.

* * * * *

_C. A. S., New Haven, Conn._--Excellent shooting can be obtained at Barnegat, Delaware and Chesapeake bays; for the last place Havre de Grace is the usual starting-point. At Crisfield, Md., near the swamps of the Pocomoke, geese and different kinds of ducks are abundant. The trip, however, if you procured boat, sink-box, etc., at the more popular places, would prove expensive. Good Ground, Long Island, on the Great South Bay, is highly recommended, and, being off the usual line of travel, should afford satisfactory shooting. We should hardly advise you to go farther north at this time of year; and on the Maine coast the birds are fishy to the taste. You could, however, get some sport with the seals--with a rifle, for they are too shy for a shotgun. At this time of year we would suggest Camden as a starting-point, where you can obtain outfit and guides at a reasonable figure, while in the back country you could get some woodcock and partridges. On the whole, our advice would be to try Long Island or Barnegat Bay.

* * * * *

_John R. S., Indianapolis._--Although trotting as a sport has not assumed any large dimensions in England, some English stock is still imported to gain fresh blood. Mr. Fairfax, of Virginia, recently purchased the stallion Matchless for 1,000 guineas from Mr. Brough, of Londesborough Wold, Yorkshire. Trotting is, however, making some headway on the other side, and a gentleman is at present laying out a half-mile track at Aintree, near Liverpool, where it is proposed to hold a meeting this year.

* * * * *

_H. B. P., Quebec._--(1) The Northwestern Amateur Rowing Association has its headquarters at Detroit, Michigan. It was organized in October, 1868, and is composed of some 47 clubs. (2) The laws in regard to “water” read as follows:

(_a_) A boat’s own water is its straight course, parallel with those of the other competing boats, from the station assigned to it at the start to the finish.

(_b_) Each boat shall keep its own water throughout the race, and any boat departing from its own water will do so at its peril.

(_c_) The umpire shall be sole judge of a boat’s own water and proper course during the race.

* * * * *

_1158 Springfield, Mass._--(1) Road-books are issued by Connecticut and Massachusetts. For former, write to Weed Sewing Machine Company, Hartford, Conn.; for latter, to H. W. Hayes, 103 State Street, Boston, Mass. (2) The States that publish road-books can make their own regulations as regards selling them to persons not members of the League. All the information and statistics are furnished by members to the compilers free, and the idea of not selling the book to outsiders is to retain the benefits afforded by the organization for members only. It is thought by some that this will increase the membership. New York State sells the road-book to outsiders for $1.50, and to League members for $1.00.

* * * * *

_Whist-Player, Yonkers._--The best thing we have seen in the line of card-tables, are those made by Keeler & Co., Washington Street, Boston. The folding pattern is especially commendable.

* * * * *

_Paterfamilias, Springfield, Mass._--You will find that the repeating air-gun made by H. H. Kiffe, 318 Fulton Street, Brooklyn, is the very thing for your boy.

* * * * *

_J. E. M., Lynchburg, Va._--Chapped heels arise from exposure to wet and cold, or from imperfect drying of the legs after washing. You will find white lead or zinc ointment beneficial.

[Illustration: From a water-color painting by J. Carter Beard. Engraved by H. Pflaum.

A MOONLIGHT ENCOUNTER WITH RUSSIAN WOLVES.]

~Outing.~

~Vol.~ XIII. FEBRUARY, 1889. ~No.~ 5.

[Illustration: SLEIGHING]

BY WILL H. WHYTE.

Hark to the sleigh-bells--how they charm the ear With crystal music exquisitely clear! Watch the light sleighs, how merrily they go O’er firm new roads macadamized with snow! The skies are blue, the sunbeams, as they play, Eclipse the splendors of a summer day, And rubies, sapphires, emeralds, diamonds blaze, Beneath each horse’s footfall, with prismatic rays.

--_G. Murray._

When old Winter, the king of the Arctic Circle, issues from his polar domain for his annual visit to southern latitudes, accompanied by his stalwart henchman Jack Frost, he binds tight with icy chains the great rivers and lakes, and even the mighty St. Lawrence bows to and acknowledges his power. Then the country and roads lie deep beneath the snow-king’s mantle, and man, who cannot hibernate like the bears, adopts a mode of locomotion different from those he uses in the long days of summer. The noisy wheel he replaces with the silent runner.

In all northern countries, where the snow covers the ground to any depth, the inhabitants use some kind of sleigh or sled to enable them to travel during the winter. In the Arctic zone the Laplanders and Esquimaux traverse their ice-bound land in low but comfortable sledges drawn by reindeer or dogs. Around the shores of Hudson’s Bay, and in sections north of Lake Superior, where the iron horse has not yet made his appearance, the winter vehicle in use is the “traineau,” drawn by a team of dogs. In Manitoba and the Canadian Northwest, until its annexation and settlement some years ago by the Dominion, this was the sole means of communication in winter between many of the scattered settlements; and even now, in the far north, the mails are so conveyed. In these days of high pressure, time is an object, and few would care to spend fourteen days in a sleigh when fourteen hours by rail would bring one to his destination. There are, however, yet living, old travelers who could many a tale unfold of tragic adventure over frozen field and flood--some even thrilling enough to stir the blood of the reader of sensational novels.

In those early days, when for four months in the year the sleigh afforded the only means of transportation, it was not regarded as a sport or pastime. The highways followed the windings and indentations of the lakes and rivers, and were frequently blocked with heavy snowdrifts. The ice made a shorter and more level path, and was consequently preferred as soon as it was strong enough to bear the weight of a horse and sleigh, so affording, during the colder months, a pleasant road. But toward the spring of the year, when the returning power of the sun honey-combed the ice, it made a dangerous track, and many a sleigh with its living freight has disappeared beneath the treacherous ice. Even without such tragic incidents, excitement would often be afforded by the loss of horses and sleigh, and a weary, perilsome walk to the nearest village or settlement. In those days no one thought of leaving home without his rifle, for in wood and bush lurked the ravenous wolf, and, still more to be dreaded, the Indian of those days. Happily this has all passed away, and the present generation travels by steam in comfortable cars, and the traveler has no fear of being brained by a tomahawk or losing his scalp. His sleigh-riding is limited to perhaps the next town or village, and usually combines pleasure with business.

In Dakota, Minnesota, and other northwestern States, and in Manitoba, during the months of February and March, when that American product, the “blizzard,” is on the trail, sleighing at any distance from civilization is somewhat perilous. We have a vivid recollection of a sleigh drive in the province of Manitoba, when for twenty miles we never saw the horse that was drawing our sleigh. With fearful velocity the blizzard overtook us, and in an instant the air was filled with a whirlwind of snow. Covering our faces, we left our “shaginappi” pony to follow the trail as best he could, trusting that somehow the sagacious animal would find his way to some house or settlement. After many weary hours, when hope was almost expiring, benumbed and nearly exhausted, just as the shadows of night were closing in around us, our steed suddenly drew up in front of a house, and the most gladsome sight we ever beheld was the light in the window of that little shanty. A warm, comfortable room and something to eat soon thawed us out, and after seeing that our four-footed friend was well housed, we were soon sound asleep, fagged out with our tussle. Never since have we yearned for a similar experience.

In lumbering, that great industry of Maine, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Canada, the sleigh and sled plays a very important part. When frost makes the swamps firm and snow levels the ground, the lumber-camp is in all its activity. The vast forest trees are cut and then easily drawn on sleds to the nearest lake or river, whence in spring they are floated to market.

Ever since the days when the “lily flag” of the Bourbons floated over “La Nouvelle France,” ice-trotting has been a Canadian winter pastime on the great St. Lawrence River, either at Quebec, Three Rivers or Montreal. In fact, in any of the inland villages, wherever a stretch of ice can be found, may be seen the French Canadian, seated on a sleigh after the style of a skeleton-sulky, no matter how cold or stormy it may be. He is happy if he can show the good points of his trotter in a race with a neighbor before an admiring audience of countrymen, and when not racing he will spend hours speeding his horse over the glassy track. The Canadian horse is hardy for his size and weight, unsurpassed for pluck and endurance, and usually possesses good action and temper. Many are descendants of Norman stock. Ice-trotting has always been a favorite sport at Montreal, and many of the trotters of the present day are descended from horses that have been used in this sport. Among those that made a name for themselves on the ice forty years ago was the well-known St. Lawrence.

In Canada sleighing has attained the greatest pre-eminence as a pastime, and perhaps in the whole Dominion it is nowhere so popular as in the ancient province of Quebec. Here the climate is absolutely unsurpassed for the thorough enjoyment of outdoor sports. When winter once sets in a thaw rarely occurs, with the exception of one in January, which seldom lasts longer than two or three days. Jack Frost is the ruler of the weather. Consequently, though the air may be cold, it is clear and dry and enjoyable, the roads hard and smooth, the runners glide easily and quietly, while the bells jingle merrily. All who can afford it keep some kind of a sleigh and horse, while the livery-stables in the larger towns do a thriving and profitable business. The country and city roads present a gay appearance. Every variety of turn-out is there, from the home-made “cariole” and French-Canadian pony of the _habitant_, to the handsome sleigh and team of the millionaire. What a revelation would a procession of all the styles of sleigh that have been in vogue since the settlement of the province afford! Or even those of the present century. There would be the little market-box, or “Berlin;” the ancient but still fashionable “cariole,” on runners so low that a chance upset does not present much danger; the trotting-sulky; the light but dashing cutter, a style more in vogue over the border than in Quebec, and dozens of fashionable equipages mounted on single or double runners and furnished with a wealth of furs that would make a Russian prince envious.

[Illustration: A MODERN TANDEM SLEIGH.]

Montreal stands unsurpassed for winter vehicles. St. Petersburg, the Russian capital, can perhaps compete in furs, but the Canadian metropolis is unsurpassed in the beauty and variety of its sleighs. Nor can the pleasure of sleighing be enjoyed to greater perfection than in the “Royal City.” The clear, bracing atmosphere gives color to the faces of the fair occupants of the sleighs; the merry music of the bells, and the sound of the runners over the crisp and frozen snow, all lend a charm to the sport, and furnish a tonic finer and far more exhilarating than anything physicians can prescribe. Even the horses seem to trot with a full instinct of enjoyment.

What is more glorious or inspiring than a drive on a beautiful clear Canadian winter’s evening? The night is glorious; possibly there is not even a breath of wind to stir the mass of snow that covers the fields. The stars twinkle and sparkle in the blue sky; the moon transforms the snowy piles into heaps of sparkling diamonds and sketches in exquisite tracery the outlines of trees and leafless branches upon the virgin carpet beneath. The solemn stillness is only broken by the melodious chimes of the sleigh-bells and the patter of the horses’ hoofs upon the frozen crystals.

If on such a night, with some fair companion at your side, you are not moved to an appreciation of the beautiful in nature, then there is no romance in your composition. If at such a time you cannot throw off the petty cares and trials of the busy world, then, my friend, you are past cure. How the jingle of a sleigh-bell will recall memories of former drives! What visions will loom up of glorious nights, with a charming companion carefully wrapped up in warm and cozy robes! How easily did the sleigh slip along behind the pair of Canadian ponies, or how gayly that chestnut or bay would step out without requiring all the attention of the driver; for when eyes are sparkling in the moonlight, and cheeks glowing ruddy in the crisp and frosty air, it is remarkable what a tendency sleigh robes have to require one’s constant attention! Under such circumstances a horse that does not require all your care is a treasure, for you have plenty of occupation for your left arm keeping the sleigh robes in their proper place, you know. Ah! those glorious sleigh rides around Mount Royal. What can be compared to them, and what an auxiliary they have been to that little god Cupid, many and many a time!

Let poets idly dream and sing The beauty of the windy spring, And in green fields go Maying: Better by far is a winter night, When snow lies deep and hard and white, And the stars look down with twinkling light On Nan and me out sleighing.

The moonlight makes a fairer day-- The restless horses seem to say, “Oh, why are you delaying?” They spurn the ground with flying feet, The sleigh-bells tinkle clear and sweet-- Life has never a joy to beat Nannie’s and mine out sleighing!

My love then nestles near my arm, Among the furs so soft and warm, And I, my heart obeying, Bend down to see her beaming eyes, Bend down to catch her loving sighs, And oh! the time too swiftly flies, When Nannie and I are sleighing!

_Montreal Star._

Sleigh parties to many of the neighboring villages around Montreal have long been a fashionable recreation. Large sleighs, that will hold thirty or forty each, convey the party to some village hotel, and there, in the ballroom, which is invariably a part of the establishment, a merry and pleasant time is spent.

In the larger cities of Canada there have existed for many years driving clubs. These possess a greater or less degree of organization, and are in operation only during the winter months. Montreal, Quebec, Halifax and Kingston have all had their “tandem clubs.” Montreal and Quebec have probably older organizations than the others. Since they all were garrison towns, during the occupancy of the Imperial troops the officers of the various regiments were among the chief factors in keeping alive these clubs. Quebec’s Tandem Club is said to have been in existence at a time which the memory of the oldest inhabitant reacheth not. One of its oldest presidents is still living, and years ago drove four thoroughbreds of his own breeding. A number of Quebec’s well-known and wealthy merchants have been presidents of the club, and with Lord Alexander Russell and the Earl of Caledon have frequently driven four-in-hand around the streets of the ancient capital. The value, it is said, of some of their magnificent outfits--sleighs, horses and robes--often exceeded $5,000. In the days of the military, the club usually consisted of five or six four-in-hands and thirty to forty tandems, besides pairs and singles. This old club has never entirely lapsed, and consists at present of the officers of the battery of artillery which garrisons the Citadel, and the wealthier shipping and lumber merchants.

The Montreal Tandem Club, as a distinct organization for the pastime of sleighing, was formed many years ago, during the occupancy of the Imperial troops. In those days it was a most fashionable and aristocratic assemblage, and usually mustered twice a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays. It was an inspiriting sight to watch the long stream of handsome equipages as they followed in line. Among those who handled the ribbons with skill and dexterity were the old, gray-haired hero of Kars, Lieutenant-General Sir Fenwick Williams, whose deep love of sport endeared him to the Canadian youth; Sir James Lindsay; Sir W. Windham, who earned the distinction of being the first to enter the famous Russian Redan in the Crimean war; Lord Paulet (the handsome guardsman); Lords Dunmore and Elphinstone; Major Penn, Colonel Bell, and many others whose names we cannot at present recall. Two should, however, not be forgotten--two whose names have since become well known the world over--Colonel Wolseley, now General Lord Wolseley, and Lieutenant Butler of the 60th Rifles, now General Sir Redvers Butler. Pleasant days they were, and as the long line of four-in-hands, unicorns, tandems and pairs filed past, filled with the happy and smiling faces of the Canadian belles and gallant officers, many of the latter little thought that in after-years, far from Canadian snows, they would find soldiers’ graves, and “sleep the sleep that knows no waking” in lands where such a thing as a snowflake was never dreamed of.

After the withdrawal of the British troops, the Tandem Club for a few years had a feeble existence; but in January, 1882, principally through the exertions of some of the older members of the Montreal Hunt Club, it was reorganized. Mr. Joseph Hickson, the general manager of the Grand Trunk Railway was elected president, while in 1883 Mr. Andrew Allan, of the well-known Canadian Steamship Company, was the president--Mr. Joseph Hickson being again elected to the office in 1884. Every Saturday, at two o’clock, the club meets on Dominion Square, opposite the Windsor Hotel. A gay and pleasing sight it is to watch the smart “turn-outs” as they circle round the square before making a start for the selected destination. A favorite resort is Peloguin’s Hotel, at Sault-au-Recollect village, about seven miles from the city, on a northern branch of the Ottawa River. A six-mile trip eastward along the banks of the St. Lawrence, brings one to Longue Pointe, while westward a favorite road leads through the suburb of Côte St. Antoine, past the “Blue Bonnets,” to Lachine, about nine miles distant. Other favorite drives are to “The Kennels,” the headquarters of the Hunt Club, or round the winding, zigzag road to the park at the summit of picturesque Mt. Royal. The time spent at the rendezvous is usually about an hour, just enough for some light refreshments and perhaps a dance or two. Should the weather prove somewhat stormy and the sleighing heavy, a drive around town is the order of the day.

The Saturday meet always draws a crowd of citizens to watch and admire the handsome sleighs and horses. The cavalcade is steadily augmented by the new arrivals until the signal for starting is sounded from the coaching-horn of the leading four-in-hand. The four-in-hands always take the lead, followed by the unicorns, which rank next. Next come one or two randoms, and then follow a long line of tandems, then the pairs, the rear being brought up by another tandem, which acts as whipper-in.

Since the introduction of the Montreal winter carnivals, the sleigh parade, or “Carnival Drive,” has been one of the week’s events each year, and is a sight worth seeing. These drives are a commingling of all sorts and conditions of men, wealth and affluence in the private equipages of the wealthy merchants and members of the Tandem Club, and rural comfort and simplicity in the humble but substantial outfit of the _habitant_. The athletic clubs turn out _en masse_ in huge sleighs of various shapes and designs, holding fifty to sixty uniformed members, and drawn by eight, six, and four horses. There are double and single sleighs, carioles, box-sleighs, light cutters, family sleighs, _habitant_ sleighs, skeletons, sulkies, “haysleds,” Russian sleighs, and nondescripts on runners impossible to classify, but all lending their aid to make up a spectacle.

Besides the fashionable Tandem Club, Montreal has other driving associations. The contractors, who in most large cities are well off, have a driving club, and visit the neighboring villages during each winter. The Hackmen’s Association have turned out sleighs by the hundred at the carnival drives, and their costly and handsome outfits have been the admiration of all, many of the master carters having sleighs that equal in style and finish those of the wealthy merchants.

[Illustration]

ACROSS WYOMING ON HORSEBACK.

BY LEWIS P. ROBIE.

During a recent winter it became necessary for me to leave Cheyenne for Buffalo, Johnson County, in the northern part of the Territory. I could reach Buffalo either by rail to Rock Creek on the Union Pacific, thence by stage or team 250 miles, or by riding direct across country. The latter route would be the least expensive, but older and more experienced men advised me not to ride, particularly at that time of the year. Severe blizzards were common in April, much rain had fallen, and as I should have to cross many streams, which of course would be swollen by the rain, it would be a hazardous journey. Besides, the country to be traversed was entirely without towns or settlements, and the distances were long between ranches and places of shelter. I thought of the possibility of my horse falling lame, or of my losing him altogether, or of being taken sick myself or disabled in some way; and since I was only a “tenderfoot,” such a journey was, in my opinion, as well as that of others, quite an undertaking.

The first thing was to get a good horse, and I purchased a dark mouse-colored one, eight years old, tough, and full of life, at the same time kind and affectionate. I named him “Terry,” and he cost me $75.00, with saddle, halter and bridle complete. I purchased a pair of boots, leather _chaperajos_, broad-brimmed sombrero, blue flannel shirt, revolver and cartridges, and attached to my saddle an overcoat and “slicker,” a fur cap and mittens, and bought a good map of Wyoming and a pocket compass. Thus equipped, I bade farewell to my friends in Cheyenne, and on the morning of April 3 started on my eventful trip across the frontier.

The Magic City was soon far in the distance, as my horse covered the ground with a pacing gait, peculiar to him. About five miles out I climbed a high range, to take my last look at the city, and then descended to the rolling plains beyond. A strong head wind sprang up and retarded my progress considerably, so that it was not until after twelve o’clock that I struck a ranch nine miles away, where I put up for dinner. After enjoying a hearty meal, I re-saddled and continued my journey on the stage road for about four miles, when I turned to the left and followed a cattle trail to Pole Creek.

The morning had dawned pleasantly, but now the weather looked very dubious, and I could see a storm coming up toward the mountains, which were almost hidden from view. It was almost four ~P.M.~ before I reached Dyer’s sheep camp, on Pole Creek, about twenty miles from Cheyenne. The storm and wind seemed to grow worse, and it was dark, just as the rain came down in torrents, when I reached Lowe’s ranch, on Horse Creek; and well it was that I did, for as night came on I could hardly see two feet ahead of me. In crossing the creek Terry stumbled and fell on his knees, but I pulled through all right, though considerably wetted. Just as the cowboys were making the round-up I rode into camp and was cordially received. Supper over, pipes were lighted, and I played my flute for a while, but, being very tired after my hard ride in such inclement weather, I soon turned in on a rough bunk of blankets and fell asleep.

My route now lay east for a few miles along the creek, and I rode along lighthearted in the glorious morning. At Goodwin’s ranch I turned north, on the stage road, and by noon reached Bard’s, at Little Bear Springs. About six miles farther on I overtook a camp of freighters, and had a pleasant talk with a few old-timers, all of whom thought my trip would be rough, and told me that they would hesitate before taking such a journey themselves. The scenery had varied little. From day to day I crossed rolling plains, with thousands of cattle, sheep and horses quietly grazing, with numerous antelopes and prairie dogs in sight, and occasionally elk and black-tailed deer. Toward the west were the Laramie Range of the Rocky Mountains, with their snow-white peaks glistening in the sun.

Time flew by, and for ten miles I rode in silence until I came in view of a lone sheep-herder with his flock. Being interested in the details of a sheep-herder’s life, I went over to where he was seated on a ledge. He was dressed in rough, cowboy’s garb, his head bowed between his knees as if he were in deep thought, smoking a pipe. As his back was turned toward me he did not see me coming, and I rode up to him and said: “A pleasant afternoon, sir!” He started, but regained his composure in a second, and without taking his pipe from his mouth, grunted a simple “yes,” not even troubling to look up. “Your sheep are in good condition,” I continued. He raised his head suddenly, gave me a wild, murderous look, but answered not a word. Concluding he did not wish to be questioned, I proceeded on my journey. At Chugwater, on inquiring about this strange fellow, I heard that many years ago he lived in New England, was of good family, very well to do, and exceptionally well educated and intelligent. He fell in love with a girl, who jilted him, and he never could get over it, but left his home, came West and started to herd sheep, living alone and shunning all society.

Toward sundown I ran into a prairie-dog town, where hundreds of these little animals were running hither and thither, in and out of their holes, and filling the air with their clatter and squealing. It was now close to six o’clock, the sun was almost out of sight, and I was as nearly as I could judge seven miles from the Chug. Terry, however, was as impatient for his supper as I was, and at my “Get up, old boy!” he started into a gallop, which he steadily kept up till the bridge was reached. It was just seven o’clock as I rode up to the post-office at Chugwater--twenty-nine miles that day, and sixty of my trip ended.

This was one of the most important places on my route, containing a post-office, stage station, a ranch hotel, a general store, and the stock ranches of the Swan Land and Cattle Company, one of the largest organizations of its kind in the world, operating 250,000 head of cattle, and having three millions capital. It is also a lay-over for the stages of the Cheyenne, Fort Laramie and Black Hills Company. There was quite a gathering of ranchmen and others, on their way south to the annual meeting of the Stock Association at Cheyenne, a very important event to the cattle owners of Wyoming.

[Illustration: I TAKE MY LAST LOOK AT THE CITY.]

In the morning I arose early, with the intention of reaching by noon a ranch called Hunton’s on the map. I found myself, however, so stiff in the limbs, not being thoroughly used to the new saddle and the action of the horse, that I concluded to allow Terry a run in the corral and rest till the afternoon before starting.

I passed the morning in looking into the workings of a model cattle ranch, preparatory to the spring round-up, and was particularly interested and amused in watching the men break some bronchos to the saddle. The life of one of these “broncho busters,” as they are called, requires much nerve and daring. Not unfrequently they are badly hurt by the kicking and struggles of these fiery beasts.

I had left the Chug scarcely more than three miles behind me, when, on turning a bend in the trail, I came suddenly on a band of a dozen or more antelopes, quietly grazing a short distance to my left. If I had had a rifle I might have distinguished myself, but I could only pop away at them with my six-shooter, much to the disgust of Terry, who kicked and bucked till I was nearly thrown. Between four and five o’clock, I reached Richard’s Creek, with four miles ahead of me to Hunton’s, where I intended to spend the night. As I approached the creek, I was overtaken by a brown, sunburnt individual, who, after we had exchanged “Hows,” invited me to spend the night at his camp half a mile down the creek. He was one of six who were on their way south to Colorado for the purpose of gathering up three hundred ponies for the round-ups in Northern Wyoming.

After enjoying a rough but palatable supper of frying-pan bread, bear meat and coffee, we lit our pipes, and with stories of frontier life, Indian raids and adventures, interspersed with music on the violin, flute and harmonica, the evening passed pleasantly. One has to put up with anything in this country, and when I had to roll myself up in blankets and sleep on the ground, it was not unexpected. I should probably have slept well if, toward morning, I had not been awakened by a rain and wind storm, which came up so suddenly that my coverings were blown away, and I was well drenched before I could find shelter under the camp wagon. It was soon over, however, and the morning broke clear and pleasant.

Soon after breakfast I started north, while the campers pulled out in the opposite direction for Colorado. Terry felt lively from his run on the plains, and I was at the ranch in less than an hour. There were now before me twenty miles to the Laramie River, and then sixty miles of very hard traveling over the foot-hills and mountains to Fort Fetterman on the North Platte, where the worst part of the trip would be over. All the afternoon, till the sun had nearly set, did I travel over the monotonous plains without seeing a sign of human life. About half-past five I heard a shot from my right, and, hastening over the hill, saw a hunter fire again at an antelope which was among a small “bunch” of cattle. Unless forced by want of water, or decoyed, these timorous creatures seldom allow hunters to approach so near; but this unfortunate in some way had got among the cattle, which were not afraid of the hunter, and so it quietly stood its ground till the first shot was fired, when it was too late to escape. The man proved to be the owner of a ranch on the river that I was bound for. I dismounted and helped him place the antelope, a fine young one, on his horse. Then, leading our horses, we started for the ranch, three miles away, anticipating with sharpened appetites the treat of fresh antelope for supper.

In the evening I was attracted by a camp-fire across the river, and thinking I might get more information as to trails, ranches, etc., I crossed the river on the logs. It proved to be a freighting outfit bound for Cheyenne direct from Buffalo. They spoke of my probably having a very hard pull to Fetterman, and thence I would be apt to get lost and turned about, unless I stuck to the stage road, and they advised me not to try to strike cow ranches, as I had planned. On recrossing the river I thought that I could get over as before, on the logs, but I missed my footing, made a misstep, and fell in. As I sank down into the cold water of the river, I thought before I could get out “my name would be Dennis;” but I grasped the logs for dear life, and, crawling and struggling, reached the shore wet as a drowned rat.

The next morning I was none the worse for my accident, or for being obliged to sleep in wet clothing. I here made a trade with my saddle, getting one lighter and cheaper, that would answer my purpose and save my horse, as the former one weighed forty pounds, being a regular cow saddle.

The morning dawned very threatening, and as I rode into the hills it began to snow. I reached Horseshoe Creek late in the evening, making twenty-eight miles that day in the face of a severe snow-storm. Early the next morning I started for Lebonte Creek, twenty-two miles away, thinking to reach there by noon, and Fetterman, twenty-two miles farther, that night. But, as I got farther into the foot-hills, I found it would be impossible through the snow, which in places was very deep, so that if I got through it in two days I would be lucky.

[Illustration: THROUGH DRIVING SLEET AND SNOW.]

For some ten miles I rode, admiring the magnificent view of the Rocky Mountains, now plainly visible, with their snow-white peaks apparently touching the clouds, when, on dismounting to walk up a long and steep hill, I heard a clatter of hoofs behind, and on looking down the hillside, was astonished to see one of the gentler sex coming in my direction. All sorts of conjectures as to who she might be crossed my mind, and I thought of stories, read long since, of “Calamity Jane,” “Fearless Kate, the Female Highwayman,” etc., but I was again surprised, as she approached, to find one of apparent refinement and culture. I was thinking just how and what to say, when she bade me a pleasant “Good-morning, sir! Rather cool”--presumably referring to the weather, not to myself. I soon found use of my powers of speech, and we chatted away at a great rate. The young lady was returning from a visit to her nearest neighbors twenty miles down the creek, and lived at a ranch which I hoped to make by noon. The remaining twelve miles did not seem half so long as the first ten.

At Lebonte her father made it exceptionally pleasant. I concluded not to attempt to make the fort that day, but to accept their kind invitation to remain till morning. In the evening, seated before the open fire, we had a long and interesting conversation. This “Rose of the Mountain” lives twenty miles from the post-office and nearest neighbors, and she and her younger brother and sister have their ponies and nature in its grandeur for their society. I made a trade with one of her brothers, and for my watch obtained a fine Winchester rifle.

During the night a storm came up, and in the morning I was confronted by a regular Wyoming blizzard. I put on overcoat and slicker, crossed the creek, and pushed into the mountains. After less than five miles, I almost wished I had remained at the ranch till the storm was over. A very high wind, accompanied by a driving, drifting snow, retarded my progress, so I could hardly make three miles an hour. As I got into the mountains, the storm increased in violence, and it grew colder. I could hardly see the trail, and but for the government telegraph-poles connecting Fort Russell with the north, which I had used as a guide so far, I should surely have been lost. At Wagon Hound and Bed Tick Creek I was obliged to make a crossing, where, had the water been a foot deeper, I should never have been able to get over. As it was, poor Terry almost gave up, the water was so cold and deep, and at Bed Tick I had to go three miles east to find a place where I dared to enter the icy water. A great part of the way I had to walk, fighting against wind and snow, till late in the afternoon, when, utterly exhausted and chilled, I dragged weak and tired Terry into Fort Fetterman, twenty-two miles that day, and one hundred and seventy miles of my journey ended.

[Illustration: AND LEADING OUR HORSES WE STARTED FOR THE RANCH.]

Fort Fetterman is situated on a high plateau, at the base of which the North Platte River winds its course for miles and miles, as far as the eye can reach, through the finest grazing country in the world, giving a view more extensive and grand than at any other point on my route. The storm cleared toward sundown, and during the night the characteristic Chinook wind of Wyoming came up--a dry wind, which blew away and absorbed nearly all the snow. When I awoke the next morning and looked out upon the vast expanse of plains and mountains, I was astonished to find hardly a trace of the storm, except in isolated places high up in the foot-hills.

Fort Fetterman used to be a Government fort, but has been abandoned for several years. It now contains two ranch hotels, several cow ranches, a post-office, Government telegraph office, half a dozen saloons and a general store, and is the largest place between Cheyenne and Buffalo. It has the reputation of being the hardest point in the Territories, being the rendezvous of all the cowboys in Central Wyoming. I kept very quiet, and with the exception of a few disagreeable solicitations to drink from some of them, I was not molested. I was a little concerned, but not at all shaken in my purpose, by authentic reports from the telegraph office, which connects with Fort McKinney, near Buffalo, of serious disturbances among the Crow Indians, who had left their reservation in Montana, and were only waiting for grass to make war on the settlers in Johnson County. I concluded, however, if they were to make a break, I would be as safe under the protection of the troops as I would be here, where a tenderfoot was never known heretofore to live more than ten days.

[Illustration: IN CAMP FOR THE NIGHT.]

A true story is told of a young man who was stationed here as a telegraph operator. He belonged to the class designated dudes, whom the cowboys love less than any other breed of tenderfeet. He was much pleased with the country and life in the Far West, but he was not satisfied with simply seeing the boys ride on horseback into saloons and shoot the lights out, common everyday fights, and an occasional lynching bee. He sighed for Indians and gore. He wanted to “spread himself” fighting the wary redskin. Finally the cowboys thought they would see if there was as much stuff in him as he bragged, so half a dozen or more dressed themselves up as Indians, with paint, feathers and tomahawks, and hid in a secluded place not far from town. In the meantime our hero was informed that some Indians had been seen a few miles up the river, and he was invited, if he wanted some sport, to join in and add his great fighting ability to help the rest. So they all started, but had hardly got out a mile or so when the secreted pseudo-Indians commenced yelling and firing in the air. The would-be Indian fighter, thinking they were an advanced guard of a host of others, turned and fled with his hair on end, and did not stop till the telegraph office was reached. He immediately wired to the Governor at Cheyenne, “Dispatch troops at once; two thousand Indians are on us,” and then hurried out to warn all to arm themselves for their lives. The postmaster, whose office was in the same room as the telegraph, directly sent another message: “Don’t deliver telegram just sent,” and the return of the cowboys soon gave the trick away. They gave the St. Louis tenderfoot no peace whatever. The territorial papers got hold of the story, and one morning he packed his grip and silently boarded the south-bound stage for parts unknown.

Early on April 9 I crossed the North Platte River. At noon I reached Sage Creek, and after resting an hour or so, left the stage road and struck a trail to my right, leading, as I was told, to Andrew’s cow ranch, on South Fork Cheyenne River, fourteen miles distant. I could see by my map a ranch in that direction, so I felt perfectly safe in venturing away from the telegraph poles, which had been my faithful and silent guides hitherto.

I was now leaving the mountains and approaching the sage-brush plains, a most monotonous and dreary-looking country. For miles I plodded along, alternately riding and walking, without seeing any sign of human life, or anything to break the monotony of the sage-brush. About half-past six, as I approached the river, I ran into a barbed-wire fence, which, when followed up for a mile or so, led me to the door of the ranch, where I dismounted and camped for the night.

I left the ranch in fine spirits. I had gone perhaps four miles when two men overtook me, passed, then turned and came back, scrutinizing me and my outfit as they came. As they drew up, one said: “Where did you get that horse?” Was it a case of mind-reading, or a mere freak, that led me to match his impertinence by saying, “Stole him.” “Yes,” he replied, “we know you did,” drawing out at the same time a warrant for the arrest of a horse-thief. My bill of sale for the horse and other papers sufficed, however, to prove that I was not the thief, and Terry carried the proof of his identity in a brand under the saddle, though answering strangely well in other respects to the description of the missing horse. They apologized for their mistake, and bidding me good-day turned toward the hills in the hope of capturing the real thief. I felt much relieved as they disappeared, for a horse-thief once caught in Wyoming stands but little chance for his life.

After dinner at Warner’s, I turned to the left across the plains, towards the stage road again, not seeing any stop for me nearer than the Wyoming stage station at Antelope Springs. On the ranges adjacent to Bear Creek and Stinking Water I came across many carcasses and bones of dead Texan cattle, which had been unable to pull through the severe winter, and as I turned north on the stage road I saw a lone buffalo.

The sun had disappeared behind a lofty range of the Rockies as I pulled up at the ranch at Antelope Springs, with only ninety miles ahead of me to Buffalo. After supper the stock-tender suddenly asked for my rifle, and almost within a second fired down the creek, where we found that he had killed an enormous gray wolf. He then bought my rifle for $15.00. I was told here that sixteen miles to the northwest I could find a cow-camp, which would not make my journey more than five miles longer, and would save an expensive stop on the stage road. I could see no ranch designated on the map in that direction, but supposed that it was a new outfit. So, the next morning I turned to the left, and followed a very narrow and almost indistinct trail till late in the afternoon, making fully twenty-five miles, without seeing any sign whatever of a human habitation, when, upon looking ahead of me at the sun, now near the horizon, I found that I was traveling due west instead of going northwest, as I should have gone. The trail had been growing much more indistinct for the last hour, so much so that it was with great difficulty I could distinguish it at all. Near by was a high bluff, which I ascended, and from which I had an extended view in all directions--north, south, east and west, as far as my eyes could reach. Not a sign of human life met my gaze. A few cattle in the foot-hills, that was all.

Lost!

I thought it could not be more than twenty-five miles northeast to the stage road, but was afraid that poor Terry would not be able to make it with ten miles more to the ranch. Besides, as darkness came on, I might get lost and turned about worse than ever. The best and only course for me was to camp out all night and wait till morning.

## Acting on this decision, I descended into a ravine, beside a small

stream, which I found by looking at the map was probably a “dry” fork of the Powder River, so called because during the summer months the water dries up. Now, however, it was quite a creek, from whose cold, clear water both Terry and I gathered much refreshment. Dry cottonwood timber lay about in considerable quantity, and I soon had a fire. I had been advised, if night should overtake me, to picket my horse near what grass he could reach, with a chance of his being devoured by wild beasts, rather than to let him run on the plains with a greater chance of his getting away. The old frontier saying is, “It is better to count bones than tracks.” I had about thirty feet of rope, with which I securely fastened Terry to a scrub pine not far from the fire, where he could partially satisfy himself with the bunch and buffalo grass that abounds in the foot-hills. I piled on the wood for a big, rousing fire, for as the night came on it grew very cold, though fortunately it was clear.

The night continued to grow cold, and I found it impossible to get any sleep with my simple coverings of overcoat and slicker. Finally I built two fires, and lying between them at length managed to get warm, and was just falling into a gentle sleep when my ears were greeted with the unearthly yelp of the coyote, or timber-wolf, which soon grew louder and nearer, till apparently I was surrounded by hundreds of them. I started up in alarm, drawing my revolver, and assumed a position of defense, for I momentarily expected they would close in on me. But my being awake, and the light of the fire, kept them at a safe distance, though the yells and cries were kept up till late in the night. To add to my misfortune, poor Terry, frightened at the uproar, broke his fastenings and decamped. I was not supremely happy at the serenade, but when I saw my faithful horse disappear in the darkness, my heart sank within me. Even if I should live through the night, how could I get out and reach food and shelter without Terry? I hoped, however, that I might find him the next morning, as he had grown to be very affectionate of late, so much so that he would eat out of my hand and follow me at my bidding. Knowing that my only safety was in keeping a bright fire steadily burning, I piled on the wood, plenty of which was fortunately near at hand. Toward daybreak the wolves began to disperse, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I heard their distant yelps, thanking God that danger from that source was now over.

As soon as the daylight enabled me to distinguish objects, my thoughts were bent on finding Terry. I had hardly left the camp-fire when he made his appearance through the timber, running directly towards me, neighing, whinnying, and apparently much pleased to find me safe.

I saddled, and, breakfastless, struck out northeast by the compass, knowing that if I kept on in that direction I was bound to reach the road. I pushed ahead as fast as possible, but my progress was necessarily very slow, as my route lay through frozen mud, fallen timber and gulches. Suddenly the horse stopped at a sandy place. I urged him with whip and spur. He would not budge an inch. I jumped off and tried to lead him over, but he would only pull back. I remounted to see what he would do, and much to my surprise he went round and crossed where the water was nearly three feet deep. “There must be something the matter with the sand,” I said to myself. To satisfy my curiosity, I rode back on the opposite side, and as the gray tinge of the breaking day lighted up the surroundings, I was astonished to discover, a few feet ahead of me, the horns of a cow sticking out of the sand. It instantly flashed across me why the horse refused to cross.

Late in the afternoon I arrived at Seventeen-mile Ranch, horse and rider hungry, sleepy, and utterly exhausted. As soon as I lay down on a rude bunk I fell into a sleep from which I did not awake till early the next morning, with a little headache, but in other respects feeling first-rate. I found that the boys at Antelope Springs bulldozed me into leaving the road, as there was no cow-camp for a hundred miles in the direction I had taken.

[Illustration: A MUSICAL EVENING.]

I had now seventeen miles to Powder River, and fifty from there to Buffalo, with a stage station between at Crazy Woman Creek. I had proceeded about two miles when I was overtaken by two cowboys racing. Terry, plodding along at his usual gait, braced up as he heard them coming, and started into a dead run so suddenly that I was almost upset. He was bound not to be left behind, and surprised me by his spirit after such a hard trip. Away we went for a mile or so, neck and neck, till the cowboys turned to the left for their ranch down the river. The incident gave me encouragement to think that Terry was all right for getting there anyway.

About four o’clock I reached the post-office at Powder River, the scene of a noted Indian massacre a few years ago. Here I was overjoyed to find letters from Cheyenne and home, the first I had received since starting on my trip. The postmaster informed me that I could strike a camp eighteen miles northwest that would save me enough distance to make Buffalo at the end of the next day, but I had had experience enough in trying to strike cow-camps, and concluded to stick to the road, even if it did take me a day longer. So, very early the next morning I started on the road, in a drenching rain, for Crazy Woman, thirty-three miles.

This was the most disagreeable day I had had during the whole trip, and a very lonely ride. I saw nothing but a water-hole at Nine-mile Gulch. The ranch here consists of only a bar-room divided by a curtain from a room used for sleeping, cooking and eating, with the stables and corral beyond. I had just entered the bar-room when I was accosted by, “Here, stranger, come and have something. Turn out some more whiskey, Bill!” I felt now I had come to what I had expected all along the line, an invitation to drink, where to refuse would be to risk death; but I was going to fight it out as long as I could. I replied, “Boys, you must excuse me; I don’t drink.”

“What’s that? Don’t drink? You ---- tenderfoot! I never had anybody refuse to drink with me yet, and, I tell yer, you do what I say--you drink!” drawing his revolver and pointing it at me.

“Well, I’ll take some light drink,” I said, knowing they had nothing but whiskey, “but I won’t drink that stuff.”

“What do you take us for? We don’t have any ---- dude drinks here. You do as I tell yer--_drink whiskey_!”

I went over to the bar, took up the glass, and was about to drink, when a thought occurred to me. I turned to the owner of the place, who was turning out the drinks, and said:

“Now, sir, I come here a stranger. I propose to attend to my own business, and when I leave pay my bills and go on my way. The reason I don’t want to drink is that the liquor will make me crazy. If I take one glass I shall want five, and I shall not be responsible for what I do. I appeal to you to see I get fair play. I’ll take a cigar with the boys, but I would rather not drink.” To which the cowboy who had insisted on my drinking replied:

“That’s all right, stranger. If you don’t want to drink, you needn’t. Here, have a cigar. Give him a whole box, Bill; I’ll pay for it.”

I humored them for awhile, but preferring Terry’s dumb society to the noise and disturbance of the drunken cowboys, I soon joined him.

The storm cleared during the night and the morning broke very pleasant. The “cow-punchers” had pulled out late at night for their ranch, and congratulating myself that I was free from them, and had but twenty miles more, I ate a hearty breakfast, and started for my last ride. I was getting now into more of a farming country, where crops of oats and wheat are very successfully raised by irrigation. The Big Horn Mountains were plainly visible to the northwest, and together with the foot-hills, which were covered with a green carpet of spring grass, looked very fine. At ten o’clock I rode into Buffalo, heartily congratulating myself upon the happy termination of a long and perilous journey.

[Illustration]

WINTER SHOOTING IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

BY C. W. BOYD.

Notwithstanding boasted advancement in civilization, the love of camp-life, with its unrestrained freedom and absence of care, is strong in many a bosom, though the demands of duty and calls of interest may lead one to suppress it. In my opinion, at any rate, there is nothing so thoroughly enjoyable as to throw off the trammels of conventionality and do as one pleases, without fear of restriction or comment.

When, therefore, towards the latter part of February, after a winter spent in town, without a chance to pull a trigger, my friend C---- proposed a “camp-hunt” up the country, I was not slow to join him. I was living at the time in the northwestern part of South Carolina, a famous country for quail, though persistent hunting and the clearing of heavy tracts of timber have made other game scarce. Having settled our destination--a spot locally known as “Indian Camp,” on Fair Forest River--and engaged the services of a teamster, with his two-horse wagon, we set to work to make up our outfit.

This, although it may seem a simple matter to the uninitiated, requires some experience, in order to know just what is necessary. I must own that, although not without some knowledge in the matter, I never went on a trip of the kind without forgetting something that I afterwards needed. In the first place, we took a tent, a cot apiece, blanket, a couple of camp-stools, water-bucket, cups, and cooking utensils. The staples of our commissariat (a very important department) were bacon, flour, lard, coffee, sugar, a few dozen lemons, and last, but not least, a little brown jug, which C---- _insisted_ on taking, saying it would come in handy for carrying water when emptied of its original contents. These things, with sundries too numerous to mention, and our guns and cartridges, completed our outfit. We took two dogs, a pointer and a setter, each thoroughly trained.

As we had determined to go in style, the next point was to find a cook. We were soon overwhelmed with applications, and the only trouble was to make a good selection. We finally decided to take Barney, a somewhat dark mulatto of gigantic proportions, a genuine Southern negro, with thick lips, broad, good-humored face, and somewhat of a character in his way. His accomplishments were considerable. From heeling a gamecock to turning the jack in “old sledge” his skill was unrivaled among his colored brethren. Not an event of importance took place in local sporting circles of which Barney did not know, and of which he was not _magna pars_, as Virgil puts it. Add to this that he was a first-rate cook, and in social intercourse constantly inclined to risibility, with a never-failing flow of conversation, and no one, I think, can disapprove of our choice.

We arrived at Indian Camp late in the afternoon, and immediately set about making ourselves comfortable for the night, sending away our conveyance with instructions to return for us in a week. We pitched our tent at the foot of a steep, wooded bluff, a few feet from a spring, whose cold waters sprang from a cleft in the rock. We soon had a fire of dry branches crackling and blazing in front, with a goodly oak, felled for the purpose, to serve as a back-log. After a hearty supper and a glass of usquebaugh, we enjoyed a pipe and talked over our plans for the morrow, and then retired, to dream of slaughtered quail and turkey until daylight.

With the first dawn we were up, soused our hands and faces in a somewhat greasy tin-pan (it had been mixed up with the side of bacon coming up in the wagon), and were soon discussing breakfast. A heavy mist hung over us, shutting out from sight the tall cottonwoods on the banks of the river, and the outlines of the hills beyond. This, however, rapidly rolled away as the sun rose, leaving the landscape clear and the weather just cool enough to be bracing. We decided to employ our first day with quail, crossing the river, or, as it is more generally called, creek, being about twenty yards wide, and hunting the hillsides, where, as the weather had been very rainy lately, we knew we would find most of the coveys. As the bottoms were in a very miry condition, I put on a pair of rubber boots, but most sincerely did I afterwards repent it, as, when I was tramping over the stony hillsides, after the sun became warm, they were almost unendurable.

We “crossed the river on a hickory log,” as the song says, and forcing a way through a dense jungle of vines and canes at least twenty feet in height, were just emerging on the other side, when, whir! whir! whir! came the sharp and well-remembered whistle of retreating wings. We dashed out into the edge of a field of young wheat, just in time to see the last brown wing settling in the distance, and our dogs, which had preceded us, rising from a dead point. The covey had been lying so close to the edge of the canebrake that we walked right into them, not knowing that our dogs had pointed. There is no use crying over spilt milk, as the country people say, and so we started in pursuit.

We had not gone half across the field when we saw my setter, that in the meantime had half circled it, drop on the border of a patch of brown straw, on the other side. We hurried across, but, on approaching, were surprised to see the dog creep several yards forward, indicating, of course, that the birds were moving, and consequently that we had found a new covey, for after being once flushed and scattered the birds always lie close. We moved forward cautiously, and, in my own case at least, somewhat nervously, for it was my first shot of the season. Suddenly--it always comes suddenly--the shock of rushing wings, and bang, bang, bang!--bang! the three first reports almost simultaneous. On searching the ground we succeeded in finding only one bird, much to our chagrin, as we supposed we had made three shots without result. This, however, was not the case, as while hunting in the direction the flushed birds had taken, through a thicket of scrub-pine, we came out into a new clearing, where some boys were burning brush, and there found two more birds where they had dropped stone dead, several hundred yards from where they had been shot. While hunting here we had the same experience many times; in fact, I have never elsewhere seen quail that were so hard to kill. We tramped all day, finding birds in abundance, and towards evening had a fine bag, although the country was very unfavorable for shooting, being extremely hilly, with numerous thickets of scrub-pine, in which the birds would seek shelter after being flushed. These were so dense that it was hard to get a glimpse of the bird as he whistled away.

On my arrival in camp I found my feet badly blistered by the rubber boots, and determined to eschew them in future for any except wading purposes. However, after bathing my feet in cold water and whiskey I began to feel comfortable, and did ample justice to a supper of smothered quail, etc.

While we were cleaning our guns, an old negro named Ralph, with two half-grown boys, made his appearance, and we derived considerable amusement from their quaint notions and ready credulity. Even the old man had probably never been a dozen miles from his native cabin in his life. For a “dram” and some pieces of silver money they brought us eggs and very tolerable butter, promising a fresh supply on the morrow. In camp one is never troubled with sleeplessness, and we were soon snoozing away comfortably under our canvas roof, dogs and all, except when it became necessary to replenish the log-fire, which we had built in front of the tent-opening to keep off the dampness.

Next day, about four in the afternoon, being tired of tramping, I determined “to take a stand” in the heavy timber near the banks of the river, for any sort of game that might chance to appear. I took a seat at the butt of a huge fallen poplar, with a maple swamp on one hand, its swelling crimson buds already showing signs of spring, and a canebrake on the other. It was almost too early in the afternoon for anything in the game line to be stirring. But the forest was grand, solitary and primeval. To the mind, however, accustomed to commune with nature, there was nothing of loneliness, for innumerable voices of the wood cried out, and the spirit of life was busy in the wilderness, and its unrestrained freedom seemed to lift and stimulate the soul like old wine. Here was a splendid field for an ornithologist. Rare birds of many species flitted about from tree to tree, or rested in the cool shade. Conspicuous above all for brilliancy of plumage, and also the noise they make in the world, were the many species of woodpeckers, from the white-and-black Indian hen, as large as a spring chicken, to the minute sapsucker no larger than a man’s thumb. These kept up an incessant hammering and boring that resounded throughout the forest like the noise of a gigantic workshop. Here and there, on the highest branches of decayed trees, lazy turkey-buzzards sat, stretching at intervals their huge wings with a slumberous effort towards the afternoon sun, while high in the air a pair of “rabbit” hawks, disturbed from their perch, circled with shrill cries.

Presently I heard the sharp bark of a squirrel, and a little fellow, with his tail over his back, jumped over the ground for a neighboring tree. I let him alone, for I knew, if undisturbed, he would be presently followed by others; the old cautious fellows letting the young and more rash bloods go first from the holes, from which, if the coast seem clear, they follow. In a few minutes the woods appeared full of them, chattering away, and jumping from tree to tree, eating the young buds with such gusto that it seemed almost a sin to disturb them. A sportsman or a hungry man, however, is not apt to indulge in sentiment, and the hills were soon reverberating with the reports of my breech-loader. C---- soon came to the spot to find out what all the racket was about, and we managed to bag about twelve before the others, frightened by the noise, regained their dens. Then we gave the birds another turn, which lasted until we could not see to shoot, and returned to camp.

Near the tent stood a small haw-tree, on whose branches we strung up our game so as to be convenient for use. By the end of the week it was pretty well loaded. But it did not remain so for long. On Saturday night a party of friends from town came up to visit us, and game and other provisions disappeared with astonishing rapidity.

We made a merry party that night gathered around the camp-fire, and song, story and jest followed each other in rapid succession. With our supply of lemons a huge bowl of punch was brewed.

Old Ralph, scenting the good cheer from afar, came down from his cabin on the hill with several other darkies, and their hearts were all made glad with a “dram.” Tired and sleepy, about two o’clock I retired. The last thing I remember seeing as I dozed off was R---- (who I think staid up all night), seated on a camp-stool, explaining to the darkies how earthquakes were caused by a certain unmentionable gentleman who resides below, moving his furniture about with other scientific facts and theories of a like kind. In the meantime his audience sat on the ground, presenting a circle of black faces on which the firelight shone, revealing open mouths and eyes as large as saucers, all of which made a _tout ensemble_ that was ludicrous in the extreme.

Next morning the weather was cloudy, and as it began to rain about eleven o’clock, we procured a wagon, packed up our equipment, and reluctantly abandoned our camp for the realms of civilization.

THREE DAYS’ GRACE.

The tiny slipper she had dropped He lifted from the brookside dust, And placed it on the dainty foot That had so lightly held its trust.

“Ah! Cinderella,”--but she waived His homage of the eye and knee; Half mockingly, half tenderly-- “I am your debtor, sir,” said she.

“Ay, and I wait the payment, love!” She flushed, then laughed back, as she sped From stepping-stone to stepping-stone: “Give me three days of grace,” she said.

He cleared the streamlet at a bound, And whispered, gazing on her face, “The favor is not mine to grant, For all your days are Days of Grace!”

_Sarah J. Burke._

AMERICAN COLLEGE ATHLETICS.

II. YALE UNIVERSITY.

BY RICHARD M. HURD,

Author of “A History of Yale Athletics.”

Yale student life has changed much in all aspects since the beginning of the present century, but in no respect has the advance been more marked, or the evolution more complete, than in the department of athletics.

The picture of the Yale student of eighty years ago, to whom the words “physical culture” were unknown, and whose ideas of out-of-door exercise were limited to an impromptu running or jumping contest, a game of “one-old-cat,” or the kicking of a football, forms the strongest contrast to the present Yale undergraduate life, with its five branches of intercollegiate sports, its long and arduous months of preparation for a contest, its highly organized system of management, and its yearly expenditure of thousands of dollars. The difference between what athletics meant to the student of that period, and what they mean to-day, presents a more striking contrast, however, than the change in their mere outward form. They were then passing amusements, acting as a safety-valve for exuberant spirits; they are now serious and absorbing pursuits scientifically studied, to which are devoted the highest qualities of courage, skill and endurance in their accomplishment, the greatest resources of experience, foresight and generalship in their command, and the best organizing and business ability in their management to be obtained in the undergraduate body. In a word, the contrast lies between the student world of the old days, which directed its best efforts into channels mapped out and set before it by authority, and the body of modern students who find in all the duties connected with athletics, the opportunities to develop by actual experience, untrammeled by supervision, those qualities, of physique, of organization, or of command, to which their tastes most tend.

To forge, then, the connecting links between the Yale athletics of 1800 and those of to-day, and to show how the latter have gradually grown out of the former, will be the purpose of this article.

Regarding it as settled that the sports of our predecessors were confined to “one-old-cat,” or the kicking of a football, the first indication of any interest in athletics occurs in 1826, when the corporation appropriated $300 to erect gymnastic apparatus upon an uncovered piece of ground. About 1840 there sprang up an annual game of football between the sophomore and freshman classes, which has survived to the present day in the form of an annual “rush.” To call this class scrimmage football is a decided stretching of the term, as may be judged from the contemporary description of a game whose participants, attired in a unique grotesqueness of style, and with faces painted in all imaginable hues, formed wedges and phalanxes, and charged and scrambled with a most healthy rivalry, but in whom all knowledge of football was evidently lacking.

Turning to rowing, we find that to Yale belongs the honor of having the oldest rowing club in America, four boats having been purchased by the students in the spring of 1843, with the idea of rowing for exercise and recreation, an idea hitherto unthought of. The system of class boat-clubs prevailed at Yale until the first Yale-Harvard race in 1852 led to the formation of the “Yale Navy,” in which all the active boat-clubs were consolidated. This first intercollegiate rowing match originated as an advertising expedient in the mind of an enterprising railroad man, who desired to bring into notice the Boston, Concord and Montreal Railroad, then a new road.

[Illustration: THE CREW--CHAMPIONS, 1888.

G. R. CARTER, ’88 S.

C. O. GILL, ’89. N. JAMES, ’90 (SUBS.). G. S. BREWSTER, ’91. R. M. WILCOX, ’88 S. W. H. CORBIN, ’89. J. A. HARTWELL, ’89 S. S. M. CROSS, ’88 (STROKE). F. A. STEVENSON, ’88 (CAPT.). G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89 (SUBS.). R. THOMPSON, ’90 (COX.). ]

[Illustration: WINNERS IN INTERCOLLEGIATE ATHLETIC GAMES, 1888.

G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89. H. L. WILLIAMS, ’91. T. G. SHEARMAN, ’89. C. H. SHERRILL, ’89. W. G. LANE, ’88 (CAPT.). W. HARMAR, ’90. ]

Of preparation for this race there was almost none, as may be judged from the remark of a member of the Harvard crew, to the effect that “they had not rowed much for fear of blistering their hands.” Harvard won the race, largely owing to their superior boat, the _Oneida_, which being probably the best of her class, deserves a description. She was an eight-oared, “lap-streak” barge, thirty-seven feet long, three and a half feet beam, quite low in the water, and fitted with gratings at each end. Flat wooden thole-pins were used, a plain bar of hard wood served as stretcher, and a red baize cushion covered each seat. The oars were of white ash, and ranged in length from thirteen feet six inches in the waist to twelve feet at bow and stroke.

Occasional races were rowed between Yale and Harvard at Springfield and on Lake Quinsigamond up to 1864. These were three-mile, turnabout races, usually rowed in six-oared barges, although sometimes four-oared and eight-oared boats would contend with them, in which case an allowance of eleven seconds per extra oar would be made in favor of the smaller boats.

Baseball as an organized game was first played at Yale in 1859, but it was not until 1864 that the formation of the Y. U. B. B. C., and the three victories won by the first Yale nine caused it to become a recognized college institution. Yale’s first intercollegiate game occurred in this year, when she defeated the Agallian Club of Wesleyan University by a score of 39 to 13 runs. For the next few years the game continued to grow at Yale, some five or ten games a year being played, mostly with professional clubs. Yale met Princeton and Harvard for the first time on the diamond in 1868, defeating Princeton easily by 30 to 23.

The game at this time, it will be understood, was a “natural” sort of game, in which the individual capacities of the players counted for far more than either team-play or training or science. Harvard defeated Yale in their first game, and continued to do so until 1874, when the tide was turned in favor of Yale, largely by the able captaincy and fine individual playing of Mr. C. Hammond Avery, who broke the chain of eight Harvard successes by winning four straight victories over Harvard.

In 1872 a series of games, the best two in three, was substituted between Yale and Harvard, in place of the annual game, and in the following year the same arrangement was made between Yale and Princeton.

[Illustration: HUNDRED YARDS RUN--THE START.]

It will be seen that the chief need of the Yale nines up to this time had been, not only a better knowledge of the game, but also greater coolness at critical points, which faithful practice could alone give them. The causes of Harvard’s uniform success were that baseball was started earlier and on a more scientific basis at Harvard than at Yale, and also because in and near Boston there were, in the early days of baseball, many nines, professional and amateur, whose influence in the way of example and practice tended always towards a high degree of skill.

Returning to football, we find that, owing to a lack of grounds, the students having been forbidden to play on the city green, the annual game was given up in 1858, and football was dead until 1870. In this year it was resurrected by the classes of ’72 and ’73, who were unusually enthusiastic over athletic sports, and becoming immediately a popular game, a match was arranged with Columbia in 1872. In this match twenty men played on each side, a game that consisted chiefly of kicking, bounding and batting the ball, one of the rules being, “No player shall pick up, throw or carry the ball.” Yale was outplayed and defeated by Princeton in the following year, the latter displaying much science. Two years later Yale attempted to play Harvard under what were called “modified Rugby rules,” and the other colleges under the old rules, with the disastrous result, which might have been expected, of being defeated by Columbia as well as by Harvard.

This brings us to the year 1876, which we will take as a starting-point for modern athletics, and retrace our steps to the Yale-Harvard races of ’64 and ’65. These were the races famous in Yale annals, won by Wilbur Bacon and his crew of giants. These men were picked out for strength, without regard to previous experience, and by dint of tremendous efforts, combined with the best discipline, they were transformed into very fast crews, despite their undoubtedly bad style. The training they underwent was, as one of their number said not long ago, “what no college crew could be asked to undergo at this time.” During the two months before the race, in which their training lasted in all its severity, they rose at six, walked and ran before breakfast from three to five miles, and rowed four miles at speed both morning and afternoon. Their diet was of the plainest, beef, mutton, toast, rice, and weak tea being the staples, with few vegetables. The time made by the ’65 crew, 17m. 47½s., for a three-mile turnabout race, six-oared, broke all previous records, and was a noteworthy performance.

From 1872 to 1875 inclusive, the regattas were very large, as many as thirteen boats being entered in one race, and were characterized by much fouling of boats, and great dissatisfaction. Stories are told of crews fighting each other with their oar-blades when fouled, and whether this be true or not, it is certain that the overcrowding of the course and the impossibility of avoiding accidents had much to do with the withdrawal of the Yale and Harvard crews in 1876. The Yale crew of ’72, the worst that ever represented Yale, contained the Freshman who, as captain and stroke of the Yale crews for the four succeeding years, was destined ultimately to bring more improvement and prestige to Yale rowing than any other individual ever connected with it.

It was in the early spring of 1873 that “Bob” Cook took his trip to England to study rowing, in which, during some months spent among the university oars of Oxford and Cambridge and the watermen of the Thames, he largely acquired that complete mastery of rowing which has enabled him to raise Yale to the first rank as a boating college. Among the sacrifices that were made to enable Mr. Cook to go to England were his being dropped a class in his studies and the pawning of a gold watch by a Senior, now a Yale professor, in order to raise the necessary funds.

It was after the three Yale victories in the University, Freshman and single-scull race, in 1873, that by the energy of Mr. C. H. Ferry the sum of $16,500 was raised to build the fine boat-house that Yale now possesses.

The year 1876, bringing as it did the formation of the Intercollegiate Football Association, the introduction of eight-oared four-mile Yale-Harvard races, and the presentation of the Mott Haven Cup, may be taken as a starting-point for modern athletics. It is not so much that there was any distinct stride in advance in this year, but rather that with the better organization of athletic sports, better opportunities were given for their development.

FOOTBALL SINCE 1876.

In this year the American Rugby rules and the oval Rugby ball were adopted by the association composed of Harvard, Princeton, and Columbia. Yale declined to join this association, but defeated every member of it, thus being virtually champion for that year.

In the following year Yale desired to play with elevens, and the other colleges with fifteens. No game was played with Harvard, but for the sake of a game Yale consented to play Princeton with fifteens. The game, which was a draw, was probably the best exhibition of football thus far given in America. The only possible drawback was the fact that weight and roughness were to some extent substituted for skill in the Yale team.

[Illustration: FOOTBALL TEAM--CHAMPIONS, 1887.

F. C. PRATT, ’88 S. W. H. CORBIN, ’89. F. W. WALLACE, ’89. S. M. CROSS, ’88. G. R. CARTER, ’88 S. W. T. BULL, ’88 S. G. W. WOODRUFF, ’89. C. O. GILL, ’89.

W. C. WURTENBERG, ’89 S. W. P. GRAVES, ’91. H. BEECHER, ’88 (CAPT.). ]

For the next two years football was played by fifteens, but since 1879 it has been played by elevens only. In the fall of 1878, the Yale Faculty permitted absence from recitation on account of football, to enable the team to play Harvard in Boston, which action put football on the same basis as baseball, and marked an epoch in its history. The victorious Yale team, having defeated Harvard by one goal to none, were met at the station at two ~A.M.~ by three hundred students, who were thus probably the first to inaugurate the present custom of a triumphant reception to the team winning an important victory.

[Illustration: OVER THE HURDLES.]

It was largely owing to the overconfidence of the Yale team engendered by this game, that they were defeated by Princeton a few days later. It was the more unfortunate that Princeton should have won this game in that it caused them to introduce the “block” game, which has done so much harm to football in America. The “block” game consists of a defensive style of play, whose sole object is to prevent the scoring of the opposing team, by which the college having won the year before may still retain the nominal glory of the championship. For the three ensuing years the Yale-Princeton games were draws. During these years the Yale-Harvard games were all well-fought contests, the Yale men winning by a more thorough understanding of the game, and by the aid of fine individual players.

[Illustration: POLE VAULTING NO. 1.--THE RISE.]

In 1881, a change in the rules was made with the idea of destroying the “block” game, by which safety touch-downs were made to count. This rule could be avoided, however, by making touch-in-goals, which were only technically different from safeties.

Yale began her football season in 1882 three weeks earlier than usual, and consequently played more practice games. In the Yale-Harvard game, Yale forced the play, making a touch-down a few moments after play began. The Harvard eleven, although they found themselves outmatched by the “finest rush-line ever put on an American field,” to their credit be it said, played the game for what it was worth and did not attempt any “blocking” tactics. The chief feature of the Yale-Princeton game was the long-distance kicking of Moffat for Princeton and of Richards for Yale, which was described as resembling a game of lawn-tennis. The most brilliant play of the game was the superb goal kicked from the sixty-five-yard line by Haxall of Princeton.

A new system of counting by points was introduced in 1883, by which a goal from touch-down was made to count six points, a goal from field five points, a touch-down two points, and a safety one. Up to this time goals from touch-downs and from field had been equivalent, and four touch-downs had equaled one goal.

The Yale team of ’83 had a giant rushline averaging 185 lbs., while the whole team averaged upwards of 173 lbs. In the Yale-Princeton game, which was distinguished by many brilliant plays, Yale made a touchdown and goal eight minutes after play began, after which no scoring was done by either side.

The Harvard Committee on Athletics having come to the conclusion that football was a brutal sport, before the Yale-Harvard game, only permitted it to be played on condition that the referee should be an alumnus, and that he should have full power to send any player off the field for unfair play, which was not in this sense to include offside play. These conditions were incorporated into the rules of the game at the annual convention, it being ruled that (1) a player can be offside but once during a game, and (2) the referee shall disqualify a man for three times intentionally delaying the game. In scoring, the system now in use was introduced, a touch-down being made to count four points instead of two, and a safety two instead of one.

[Illustration: POLE VAULTING NO. 2.--CLEARING THE BAR.]

The Yale eleven of 1884 defeated Harvard by 52 to 0, her eleven being by far the poorest she had ever turned out, ranking fifth among the college teams. In the Yale-Princeton game a goal from touch-down was made by Yale just three minutes after play was called. Princeton secured a touch-down, but no goal, and with the score 6 to 4 in favor of Yale, the game was called before time on account of darkness, thus making it technically “no game,” and depriving Yale of the formal championship.

[Illustration: POLE VAULTING NO. 3.--DROPPING THE POLE.]

For the season of 1885 the Football Association embraced but four members, Yale, Princeton, Wesleyan and Pennsylvania, Harvard being forbidden intercollegiate football by the action of their Faculty. At Yale one of the finest elevens ever turned out was formed from almost entirely new material, and, although defeated by Princeton by six points to five, this material has abundantly repaid the efforts made in its behalf by forming the backbone of Yale’s magnificent elevens of 1886 and 1887. In the first half of the Yale-Princeton game of 1885, Yale scored a goal from the field. In the second half, Lamar, of Princeton, made his famous run, seizing the ball on a long, low punt, and by clever dodging obtaining a clear field for a run, he made a touch-down between the goal-posts, thus winning the championship for Princeton. It was a marvelous feat, and one to be long remembered.

[Illustration: THE NINE--CHAMPIONS, 1888.

N. S. DALZELL, ’91 (subs.). J. C. DANN, ’88 S., c. J. O. HEYWORTH, ’88 (subs.). S. Y. OSBORNE, ’88 S. (subs.) S. J. WALKER, ’88, l. f. J. F. HUNT, L.S., c.f. C. B. McCONKEY, ’88, s. s.

H. McBRIDE, ’90 S., 1b. A. G. McCLINTOCK, ’90, r. f. H. F. NOYES, ’89, 3b. G. CALHOUN, ’91, 2b. A. A. STAGG, ’88, p. (CAPT.) ]

In the fall of 1886 Harvard was readmitted to the association, and proved that she had not been idle during her year of class football contests by displaying better football than she had ever shown before. In one of the most exhausting games ever played, Yale defeated her by 29 to 4. In this game Yale, according to her usual policy, forced the play from the beginning, obtaining two goals in the first twelve minutes’ play. The Yale-Princeton game of this year was something more than a disappointment to the thousands from New York, New Haven, and elsewhere, who gathered in Princeton only to be soaked by a fierce rain and to witness an unfinished game, in which good play, owing to the slippery ground, was impossible.

The resolutions adopted by the convention are worthy of record:

_Resolved_, 1, That this convention cannot, as a convention, award the championship for 1886.

_Resolved_, 2, That Yale, according to points scored, should have won the championship.

In the fall of 1887, the chief innovation was the appointment of an umpire, in addition to the referee, whose duty it was to prevent and punish violations of the rules of behavior. No delays of over one minute were allowed this year. Despite the heavy rain during the Yale-Princeton game, which rendered brilliant plays impossible, it was a very satisfactory game, being free from delays, slugging, foul-tackling, etc.

The Yale-Harvard game played at the Polo Grounds, New York, on Thanksgiving Day, in the presence of some twenty thousand people, was without doubt the finest game of football ever played in America, and one which, owing to its freedom from disagreeable incidents, did incalculable good in influencing popular opinion in favor of the game. In the first half Yale scored a goal from field and one from touch-down. The touch-down was made by the Yale centre, who, being unguarded by the Harvard centre, instead of snapping the ball back when the elevens lined up, kicked it a few inches forward, and, picking it up, made a long run. Time for the first half was called just as the Harvard back was making a run, and the Yale rushers not attempting to stop him, he secured a touch-down too late to be counted. In the second half Yale made a safety, and Harvard a goal from touch-down, making the score 11 to 8 in favor of Yale. One of the Yale half-backs, however, by a brilliant run of thirty-five yards, secured a touch-down, from which a goal was kicked, which rendered the final score 17 to 8.

The year 1887 was a most encouraging one to all lovers of football in the elimination of many disagreeable features and in the adequate enforcement of the rules by two officials. The last bugbear to football that seems to be gradually disappearing is the practice of “slugging,” or striking with the closed fist. What might be called a stricter attention to business necessitated by the more intricate system of team-play, aided by the appointment of a special umpire, has almost completely removed this stumbling-block. Two dangers remain that must be in some way overcome before the future of football is assured, and these are “holding in the line” and “interference.”

The different styles of play evolved at Harvard, Princeton and Yale in this year showed a more marked individuality than is usually the case. Harvard’s game was one of heavy rushing in its most aggressive form, with but little kicking. Princeton, on the other hand, adhered to their traditional game of agility, selecting their players for skill and sacrificing strength and weight, while Yale possessed an all-round team, capable of playing a rushing or a kicking game, and one which, being ably generaled, suited its style of play to that of its opponent.

There were but two games of interest in the fall of 1888, owing to the unfortunate action of the Harvard Faculty in not allowing the Yale-Harvard game to be played in New York. In the first of these Princeton defeated Harvard by 18 to 6, the victory being won by superior play, against a weak rush-line. The Yale-Princeton game was a magnificent and stubborn contest, being won by Yale by two goals from the field to nothing. Harvard having forfeited to Yale, the championship remained in New Haven for another year.

Football in American colleges, despite the severe crisis of 1884 and 1885, is at present in far better shape than it ever has been, and promises to become a great national game on this side of the water, as it has so long been on the other.

The record that Yale has made in football is too good to be omitted. She has won 93 out of 98 games played, having lost three games to Princeton, one to Harvard, and one to Columbia. Since 1878, Yale has lost but one game, and that by one point. In points Yale has won, since points began to be counted, 3,001 to her opponents’ 56; in goals, 530 to 19, and in touch-downs, 219 to 9.

ROWING SINCE 1876.

By a vote of the Y. U. B. C., Yale withdrew from the general rowing association and challenged Harvard to an eight-oared four-mile contest, a challenge which she promptly accepted. For this race all undergraduates of either college and all of the graduates of either who were studying for another degree were declared eligible. The ’76 race was an easy victory for Yale, being won by half a minute. Mr. Cook, the Yale stroke, set the stroke about thirty-three, and did not vary one point in the last two miles, while the Harvard stroke was very irregular, ranging from thirty-five to forty a minute. The boats used in this race were of cedar, and were the first eight-oared shells used in America. In the fall of this year a picked four from the Yale crew, stroked by Mr. Cook, won the international and intercollegiate regatta of the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia.

The withdrawal of Yale from the general regatta, followed next year by the withdrawal of Harvard, so effectually discouraged the smaller colleges that no rowing was done by any of them for a number of years.

The Yale-Harvard races, after being rowed at Springfield for two years, were moved in 1878 to New London, where they have since been rowed. The advantages offered by this place in the way of its easy access from the great cities, its clear and straight course, and the “moving grand stand” of platform cars running along the west bank of the river, are so strongly in its favor that it appears probable that the races have found their permanent home.

The races of ’77, ’78 and ’79 were won by Harvard with increasing ease, the first-named being won by seven seconds and the last by one minute and forty-three seconds. The spectators in this year were amazed, according to the papers, to see “how badly the Yale men rowed;” but with this disgraceful defeat came the spur to greater effort, and for the two ensuing years victory came to Yale.

In 1882 there occurred the famous “eel-grass” race, the most disappointing race ever rowed in America. The Yale captain, with the assistance of Mr. Davis, devised a new style of boat in which the oars were separated into pairs of starboard and port, by which device so much room was required that the boat measured sixty-eight feet, or nine feet longer than the average racing shell. The ultimate object was to attain a high stroke, scientific principles being sacrificed to a sort of “get there” way of rowing forty-two to forty-eight strokes a minute. The story of the race is soon told. Yale led at the mile-and-a-half by a length of clear water, and at the two miles, where Yale emerged from the eel-grass, Harvard led by six lengths. The Yale crew gave a splendid exhibition of “sand,” spurting right up to the finish line at a forty-five stroke, and finishing half a length behind Harvard. The fact that they rowed every individual half-mile excepting the fourth, when in the eel-grass, faster than Harvard, sufficiently proves their superiority.

Under the same captain, the Yale crew adhered to the same style of rowing in the following year, nor is it to be wondered at, considering the fast time they made both at New London and in New Haven harbor. The ’83 crew, however, lacked the snap and life and the severe training that alone can bring success to a crew rowing so incorrect a stroke as they used. Harvard’s victory by fifteen lengths killed the so-called “donkey-engine” stroke at Yale, which in itself was of more benefit to Yale rowing than many victories. Mr. R. J. Cook again came to the rescue of boating at Yale in 1884, and turned out the finest Yale crew that had yet sat on the water, and one that lowered the record to 20m. 31s.

In 1885 the Yale crew, as they rowed up to the starting flag, appeared very heavy and very ragged, owing to the difference in height. They were a powerful set of men, averaging 175½ pounds, wretchedly trained, four being over-trained and four undertrained, and rowing a combination Cook and “donkey-engine” stroke. Compromises in rowing are almost invariably fatal, and so it proved in this instance, the Yale crew finishing, very much distressed, some sixteen lengths behind Harvard. The Harvard crew used one of the best strokes they had ever rowed, it being characterized by a long, smooth pull, stronger in the middle of the stroke than at either catch or finish, and by a well-controlled slide at both ends of the stroke.

In the past three years, owing largely to the personal efforts of Mr. Cook, “the father of Yale boating,” in coaching a most faithful and painstaking set of men, victory has remained with the Yalensians, and Yale now leads Harvard in the number of eight-oared races won. The ’86 race was a comparatively easy one, Yale winning by eight lengths, while the ’87 race was a desperate struggle, won by but four lengths. The race of last spring will be long remembered by Yale men as the most crushing defeat ever administered to Harvard oarsmen. The strict adherence on the part of the Yale crew to the principles of rowing practised in the two preceding years, backed up by great enthusiasm and assiduous labor, turned out a crew that rowed the course in 20m. 10s., lowering the record easily without being pushed. At Harvard, the dissensions among the members of the rowing committee, their adoption of antiquated English ideas in regard to boats, oars, rigging, etc., and the curious notions of rowing held by Mr. Watson the chief coach, turned out a crew that lost a length in the first ten strokes, and crossed the finish line a quarter of a mile behind the Yale crew. “Too many cooks spoil the broth,” is an old but true adage. Yale is fortunate in possessing one Cook, who certainly makes most excellent broth. It seems probable that, in view of the practical working of their rowing committee, Harvard will either again seek the aid of professional oarsmen, or select one man, such as Mr. Frank Peabody, or Mr. J. J. Storrow, to have entire control of her boating interests. The diet of the ’88 crew may be given as fairly representative of the latest ideas in regard to this branch of the training. For breakfast and supper the crew ate oatmeal, beefsteak, mutton-chops, eggs, and stewed or baked potatoes; for dinner, roast beef, mutton, fricasseed chicken, water-cress, potatoes, rice, macaroni, tomatoes and puddings. Occasional ale was allowed, especially after the crew had rowed on time, or on particularly hot days. The work of the crew occupied about three hours a day, besides which as much work was done in pair-oars in the mornings during the spring, as recitations would permit.

The summary of Yale-Harvard races stands: Harvard 22, Yale 17; Harvard’s lead being obtained between 1852 and 1870, when rowing was in its infancy at Yale.

It is interesting to notice that neither age, weight nor height have any decided advantage among the Yale and Harvard crews, the oldest crews having won seven times in thirteen, the heaviest five times in thirteen, and the tallest four times in eleven.

It would thus appear that the qualities that bring success in rowing are not merely physical, to be computed mathematically, but that the moral qualities of pluck and endurance, added to skill and judgment, must be equally considered in selecting a typical rowing man.

The average rowing man, physically considered, of Yale and Harvard for the past twelve years has been a man 21¾ years old, 167½ lbs. in weight, and 5 ft. 10½ in. in height. It is rather remarkable that the average Yale and the average Harvard rowing man does not vary more than a slight fraction in any of these three respects, despite the wide differences between individual Yale and Harvard crews.

The principles of good rowing laid down by Mr. Cook in the last two years, and re-enforced by his constant attention, have resulted in a settled style of rowing at Yale, which bids fair to be modified only as the needs of individual crews may require. There are a few oarsmen who still favor somewhat the rapid stroke of the ’82 Yale crew, basing their arguments upon the fast times made by that crew both at New London and on New Haven harbor. The answer to be made to the advocates of their style of rowing is that they were a set of giants, capable of rowing forty-five strokes to the minute for four miles, a feat impossible to modern oarsmen. It is conceivable that the rapid stroke, so much trusted in by professionals, might with men of immense strength, who were incapable of attaining to the finish and detail of a crew of the present day, turn out a faster eight than the “Bob Cook” stroke with the same men, still it is much to be doubted. While with the present tendency towards selecting light and muscular, rather than beefy men, there can be no question but that the fastest rowing of which they are capable will be done by the “Bob Cook” stroke, which with its long swing and slow slide takes advantage of every pound of impetus, and with its slow catch gives the oarsman between every stroke a chance to recover his breath and nerve himself for the next pull. And this present method of selecting material is more than justified by the magnificent rowing of the ’88 Yale crew, which in the opinion of Mr. Frank Peabody, the Harvard coach, could defeat any crew, amateur or professional, English or American, that should be pitted against it. In other words, the ’88 Yale crew made the finest exhibition of rowing ever seen in America, and may be safely said to have been the fastest crew that ever sat in a boat.

BASEBALL SINCE 1876.

After the Yale successes in baseball in ’74 and ’75, the Yale nines played much closer games with Harvard, although for the four succeeding years the series of games was invariably won by Harvard.

One of the Yale-Harvard games in 1877 was remarkable in that the Harvard nine went to the bat only twenty-seven times, each player going out in the order of striking. Not a single hit was made off Carter, the Yale pitcher. In 1878 Yale defeated Harvard on her own grounds for the first time, which inspired so much over-confidence in the Yale team that they were defeated in three straight games by Harvard. This is but one of many instances of the truth that college nines do best when least is expected of them, and that it is confidence unfortified by hard work which most surely issues in defeat.

The Intercollegiate Baseball Association was formed in December, 1879, with Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Amherst, Dartmouth and Brown as members. Yale shortly withdrew from the association because it voted to allow the playing of college men who had played on professional teams. Series of games were arranged, however, with Harvard, Princeton and Amherst, in which Yale won seven out of eight games, virtually winning the championship. In her games with professionals Yale was singularly successful, winning eleven out of thirteen played.

From 1880 to 1888 inclusive Yale has won the championship, with but one exception, when in 1885 Harvard won it by ten straight victories. In 1884 Yale and Harvard were tied for first place, and the deciding game, played in Brooklyn, was won by Yale.

The year 1885 was the most disastrous in athletics ever experienced at Yale. The Yale nine, although possessing individual players of merit, had no reliable pitcher, and lacked team play and discipline. Yale’s first defeat in 1886 was in an exhibition game with Columbia, whose brilliant team of this year defeated Harvard also. This team was in reality a graduates’ nine composed mostly of Law School men, and included graduates of Yale, Princeton, etc. The tie game for the championship was played off in Hartford, between Harvard and Yale, on the day after Yale’s victory on the water. The Yale nine, who had been practising on the Hartford grounds while the Harvard nine watched the race, played with great determination, and won by a score of 7 to 1. The now famous battery of Stagg and Dann first came to the front in this year.

After this season’s play, Harvard, Princeton and Yale withdrew from the Intercollegiate Association and formed a triangular league. Into this “College League” Columbia was admitted, but after a few games she withdrew owing to various difficulties. The first Yale-Harvard game in 1887, played in New Haven, resulted in a crushing defeat for Harvard by a score of 14 to 2. The game was quite close until the eighth inning, in which the Yale nine completely knocked Boyden out of the box, making eight hits with a total of twelve, and allowing every member of the nine to make a circuit of the bases.

The baseball season of 1888 opened with a severe check to Yale’s hopes in her defeat by Princeton in the first game played. The loss of this game made it appear that Princeton, after having for several years assisted Yale to the championship by winning a game or two from Harvard, would now render a like service to Harvard. The first Yale-Harvard game, however, was reassuring, Yale winning by 7 to 1. The next game, played in Cambridge, being won by Harvard, 7 to 3, put an entirely different aspect upon affairs, necessitating, as it did, in order for Yale to win the championship, her winning the three remaining games of the series. This difficult feat was brilliantly accomplished by the aid of much “sand” in the Yale team. The most notable feature was the game played in Cambridge, won by Yale, 8 to 0, in which Stagg held the Harvard batters down to two hits. As was the case in 1886 and 1887, Yale’s chief strength this year lay in her battery, Stagg and Dann.

Yale’s baseball record is, on the whole, most creditable, she having won 130 out of 177 college games played. With Harvard, Yale has won 32 games and lost 30, while with Princeton Yale has won 33 and lost 11. To other colleges than these two, Yale has lost but six games, two to Amherst, two to Brown, one to Columbia and one to Dartmouth. In all her games, with professionals as well as amateurs, Yale has made about 550 more runs than her opponents.

An innovation was made last fall in the matter of getting together a university nine for practice games in the fall. During the winter the nine practised batting daily in the baseball cage, and got in good physical condition by gymnasium work and out-of-door running. A simple machine, enabling the nine to practise sliding in the cage, was devised last spring, and its results are evident in the number of stolen bases accredited to the Yale nine in its past season’s play.

The number of annual championships in Rowing, Football, and Baseball since the establishment of intercollegiate associations in these branches, won respectively by Yale, Harvard and Princeton is a source of pride to Yale men, the numbers being: Yale 21, Harvard 7, and Princeton 2.

TRACK ATHLETICS.

Track Athletics at Yale started in 1872, about the time that the first intercollegiate athletic meetings were being held in Saratoga. Yale sent two representatives, born athletes devoid of instruction, to the intercollegiate meetings of ’74 and ’75, who won a first prize apiece each year. Fall games were started at Yale in 1875, and were an unqualified success, the most interesting event being the running high jump of Gale, ’78 S., who cleared 5 ft. 3 in., pronounced to be “the finest amateur jumping ever done in America.”

It is a curious commentary on the taste of this period that the hurdle and the one hundred yard races were regarded as tame, while a three or a seven mile walk was considered most interesting and exciting. The presentation of the Challenge Cup, valued at $500, now commonly known as the Mott Haven Cup, served as a great stimulus to track athletics in all the other prominent athletic colleges except Yale, whose apathy and indifference to this branch was so great that from 1877 till 1880 she sent no representatives to the meetings. In 1880 Mr. T. Dewitt Cuyler, of Yale, established a record of 4m. 37 3-5s. in the mile run, a record which was not broken for seven years. From 1880 on, Harvard continued to win the cup with an unvarying regularity, with Columbia a good second and Yale a poor third.

In 1882 one of Yale’s best runners appeared, Mr. H. S. Brooks, who won the intercollegiate 100 yards and 220 yards for two years, doing the 100 in 10 1-5s., and the 220 in 22 5-8s.

The famous 220 yards run between Brooks and W. Baker of Harvard, occurred in 1884, and was a magnificent exhibition of running, Baker winning in 22 2-5s.

In 1886 the contest for the cup between Yale and Harvard was most closely fought, resting as it did upon the decision in the 100 yards, which was, at any rate, a very difficult decision to make. It is hardly worth while to recount that Sherrill of Yale was cheered and congratulated as winner, or that the decision rested with one judge, a Harvard graduate, who alone, out of the three judges, witnessed the finish, for Yale lost the cup. The policy of Yale men after defeat has always been to make no excuses for failure, but to turn with greater determination to the work of retrieving the past by victory in the future.

Yale has had a large number of fine individual track athletes in the past two years, among them being Sherrill, ’89, amateur champion in 1887 for 100 yards, and easy winner this year in the intercollegiate 100 yards and 220 yards; Coxe, ’87, with his records of 101 ft. 1 in. in the hammer throw, and of 40 ft. 9½ in. in putting the shot; Ludington, ’87, who has hurdled in 16¾s.; Harmar, ’90, who has run a mile in 4m. 32 2-5s., and Shearman, ’89, who jumps 21 ft. 7½ in. in the broad jump, 5 ft. 8½ in. in the high jump, and pole vaults 10 ft. 3 5-8 in.

To the fact that Yale had so many crack performers in 1887 was due her winning of the cup, aided by the fact that Harvard found very strong competition from the other colleges in her events. Yale lost the cup this year for the opposite reasons, having no luck in winning events, and having but three crack performers left. As to men of medium ability, Yale never possesses them, her success depending solely upon her first-class men. It is a notable commentary on the system of track athletics at Yale, that her three best performers this year won five first prizes, and that these were the only ones taken by Yale.

Until Yale follows in Harvard’s footsteps in training carefully and skilfully a large number of men for her athletic team she can never hope to compete on an equality with Harvard. And this will not be possible at Yale until greater interest is taken in this branch of athletics, and until the cup is valued as highly as a football championship or a Yale-Harvard race.

LAWN TENNIS.

The game of lawn tennis, first played in this country in 1875, was long a popular game among college students before it became an object of intercollegiate strife. In 1883, at the proposal of Trinity College, an association was formed embracing Amherst, Brown, Harvard, Trinity and Yale. This association has grown in numbers since that time, until it has now eleven members, the added ones being Columbia, Lehigh, Princeton, University of Pennsylvania, Wesleyan and Williams. The tournaments for the first two years were held in Hartford, and for the last three years in New Haven. In the first year of the association two tournaments were held, both won by Harvard, but since then one annual championship has been held every fall.

The difference in the expenses of the tournaments of 1883 and 1888, will indicate somewhat the increased importance of this annual event, the total expenditure in the first year being $8, while for prizes alone there was spent last year $285. The number of college men who are reckoned among the best players of this country, is worthy of note, including as it does such names as Mr. R. D. Sears, Mr. H. W. Slocum, Mr. J. Clark, Mr. G. M. Brinley, Mr. H. A. Taylor, and others.

Mr. R. D. Sears, the well-known ex-champion of the United States, only played once, in 1884, in the intercollegiate tournament, and was then beaten, principally owing to the poor grounds, by Mr. W. P. Knapp, of Yale, who of all individual players has the best record in the college tournaments, having won two first prizes in singles and three in doubles. In the five annual championship tournaments, Yale has won five first places and three seconds, Harvard five firsts and one second, Trinity one first and four seconds, Columbia one first and three seconds, and Amherst one second.

There are now in Yale five athletic organizations for the five branches of athletics, each of which is a member of an intercollegiate association for that branch. Each organization has its own president, vice-president, treasurer and secretary, elected annually, of whom the president is usually an academic senior, the vice-president a scientific senior, and the treasurer and secretary either underclassmen or, in the case of the boat club, a professor of the college. The annual expenses of the various organizations are about as follows: Football, $3,000; baseball, $4,000; crew, $5,000 to $7,000; track athletics, $2,000 to $2,500; tennis, $250. Of these the football, baseball and tennis associations are self-supporting, the Track Athletic Association is very nearly so, and only the expense of supporting the crew falls upon the students. In this the undergraduates are assisted by graduate subscriptions, by glee-club concerts, and by concessions from the railroads that run into New London, and from the town itself. The Football Association, especially in lucky years, nets the largest sum from its games, although there is usually also a substantial baseball surplus remaining.

A scheme of uniting all the organizations, with a common treasury, has often been proposed; but it would seem to be inadvisable owing to the probable increased expenditure, where each organization would not let the others surpass it in expensive uniforms or luxurious living.

To sum up what Yale has done for athletics would be entirely beyond the scope of this article, and equally impossible would it be to calculate what athletics have done for Yale. Suffice it to say, that Yale has always been on the side of manly, fair and honest sport, and that in the persons of such men as Mr. Robert Cook, Mr. Walter Camp, and others, as well as in the devoted labors of many hundred athletes, with the head as well as with the hand, she has always striven to advance the science and elevate the tone of every athletic sport. While, as to what athletics have done for Yale, leaving out of consideration the lower purposes served of bringing glory and prominence to Yale among American colleges, and the undoubted attraction of larger numbers of students, athletics have turned out from Yale many hundreds not to say thousands of men, manly and democratic in ideas, possessed of constitutions able to endure almost any amount of work, and competent to struggle and hold their own in whatever circumstances they may in afterlife find themselves placed.

The saying of Mr. Robert Cook applies to other sports as well as boating: “A successful oarsman is always a successful man.” The qualities absolutely necessary in athletics, of self-mastery, of patience, of perseverance, of pluck, of endurance, and of obedience, form the best endowment to a young man about to enter life.

~Note.~--The illustrations of the different groups of athletic, football, baseball, lacrosse, and other teams in this series of articles on college athletics, are from photographs by Pach Brothers, of 841 Broadway.

A RUSSIAN WOLF HUNT.

BY TOM BOLTON.

During the winter of ’82 business complications made it necessary for me to take a journey into a wild and remote part of Russia. The house with which I was connected had had some very unsatisfactory dealings with one of its branches, and things had come to such a pass that a visit from a member of the main establishment had become imperative.

It was late in January when I had to make my start, and the weather had been unusually cold. I could travel 750 miles out of my journey of 1,000 by rail; but the balance of the trip would have to be made by sledges, not a very rapid or convenient mode of transportation, though it has the advantage of enabling the traveler to regulate his time as he feels disposed. Being extremely fond of field sports, and knowing that the section of country I was going to visit would, in all probability, contain plenty of game, I carried my Colt’s breech-loading shotgun and a fine Winchester repeating rifle, with a good store of ammunition for both.

Well, I arrived at the end of my railroad journey without any accident or incident other than the regular daily skirmishes for meals and hot tea at the not overclean stations. We were fortunate in having a clear line, no snow having fallen for over a week--rather a remarkable circumstance in Russia--so we were not compelled to dig out any snowbanks, though this form of amusement is by no means unusual. The morning after my arrival at Udalla I sent to make arrangements for a sledge at the posting-station. This was soon done, and in an hour I was clear of the town and fairly started on the second half of my long journey.

In Russia the sledges are generally roofed over--especially those used for traveling--somewhat after the fashion of our buggies, and are very low, so that, provided there are plenty of rugs and furs, one can make a trip comfortably enough, and even sleep at his pleasure. The picture in the mind of travel of this description is of three horses abreast, gayly dashing along in fine style; but in my case the actual facts were very different. Before we had gone two _versts_ from Udalla, the road became very bad, for the snow was deep on each side of the track, and though the track itself was broken, the snow was in great lumps. Over these the sledge thumped and banged, while the horses stumbled and floundered along as best they could. The driver, meanwhile, consoled himself by alternately cursing the horses, the road, and his bad luck at having to come out, with an occasional _vogtd_ at me for a crazy Englishman who wanted to kill something so badly that he had to go hunting in the dead of winter; my language and _impedimenta_ giving rise to various unfounded rumors, while every one speaking English is put down as an Englishman by the peasantry in this part of Russia.

We reached the post-station, at the end of our first day’s travel, long after nightfall. After a hot supper, I continued my journey all night, taking a number of naps, but no regular sleep, because, as soon as I began to doze, I would imagine my ribs to be a corduroy road, and my vertebræ a troop of army mules crossing it and kicking off flies. However, I managed to get along tolerably well, all things considered, and had the satisfaction of knowing that my unfortunate driver was having considerably the worse time of the two.

During the fourth day’s journey, while we were passing through a very extensive forest, several wolves came out into the road and followed us a mile or more, but at quite a respectful distance. Their number was too small to cause me any uneasiness, though my driver did not at all like their presence, and the horses betrayed their alarm by their evident desire to hurry along. One large black fellow tried to get up some excitement, and howled most dismally, so I made my driver stop, while I got out my heavy Smith & Wesson revolver. Taking a rest over my left elbow, I let fly at his shoulder as he stood sideways to me, and had the satisfaction of seeing him stumble forwards, and take to the timber again with his friends at his heels. My driver told me that a sledge had been attacked by wolves on this very road a couple of winters before, and both horses and passengers eaten up, but that the wolves had been rather scarce since.

I had heard much about wolf-hunting as practised by the Russians of the Steppes, viz., driving a sledge through the woods and over the plains with a piece of meat dragging behind to attract the wolves, thus giving the hunters in the sledge an opportunity to kill them. I had promised myself to try this plan and have some sport in spite of the fact that my driver told some blood-curdling tales of the fierceness of the wolves when banded together and made desperate by hunger.

[Illustration: WE ENTERED AN OPEN SLEDGE WITH THREE HORSES HARNESSED ABREAST.]

It was nearly night on the fifth day, before I arrived at my destination, and, as may be imagined, I enjoyed a good night’s sleep, as well as a much better supper than I had been having.

The following morning I had to attend to the business that had brought me so far. I soon discovered that only prompt action would save us heavy losses, so I at once discharged the local manager, as well as two collectors, whose honesty I had cause to suspect. This threw much work on my hands, so I had very little time at my own disposal. However, I managed to make the acquaintance of a Captain Komanoff, who owned a small estate in the neighborhood, and who was devoted to sport in all its branches. When I mentioned my desire for a wolf hunt to him, he laughed and said he had been on several, and had generally had good sport. He added that he would arrange to go with me whenever I should be ready.

In the course of ten days I had the rather complicated affairs pretty well in hand, and as there had been a damp fall of snow, followed by a frost, I concluded I could spare time for my hunt. Accordingly, I notified Komanoff, and one clear, calm night we entered an open sledge, that is, one without any top, and with three good horses harnessed abreast, set out.

I carried my shotgun, with a bounteous supply of cartridges loaded with small buckshot, thinking it a better weapon than a rifle to use at night, while Komanoff had an army carbine, carrying a large-sized ball, with which, he told me, he had killed many a bear and wolf. Each of us was also armed with a revolver and heavy hunting-knife. The driver whom we had engaged for the night had a couple of pistols and a knife in his belt, and as he was a plucky fellow and had hunted (or been hunted by) wolves before, we were pretty well prepared for anything. Ivan (the driver) took care that we also had a small basket of lunch and a bottle of brandy, so we were quite in the humor to make a night of it.

[Illustration: RUSSIAN WOLVES.]

The snow was well crusted over, and easily bore our horses, thus making a hard, level surface to travel over, also reducing the chances of a capsize, which, if one were pursued, might give the sport a very different ending from that intended. When well out from the village and near the edge of the timber, the bait (in this case a quarter of a calf, well rubbed with asafœtida and bound with straw) was thrown over and allowed to drag at the end of a stout cord about forty feet behind us.

It was certainly a grand night, the moon being at the full, and the reflection on the snow made objects almost as clearly discernable as in the daytime. Far up on the northern horizon the Aurora Borealis alternately flashed and paled, now throwing up bars and rays of violet and gold, and again diffusing itself over the heavens in a soft but ever-changeful glow.

We had been riding slowly along for a couple of hours, when Komanoff remarked:

“I am afraid we shall have our trip for nothing; the wolves don’t seem to be about to-night, and yet this wood is a famous place to look for them.”

“Don’t be uneasy, Captain,” said Ivan; “I am going to make a circle and cross our track again, and I think you will have some shooting yet.”

The words were hardly spoken before we heard, far off to our right, the long-drawn, sepulchral howl of a wolf. He had evidently struck our trail, and the veal smelled good, so he was yelling for his friends. The team was at once stopped, while we listened and heard several more howls in response. The horses heard them too, and at once showed their fear by an attempt to get away, but Ivan had them well under control, and only permitted them to walk, not wishing to blow them before the beasts began to gather.

“I see a wolf,” said Komanoff; “look away back there on our track, right under the moon. Ah! and there are several more; I think they will come along now.”

Looking back, I saw several black objects coming out of the timber, which we knew to be wolves, and the way they increased in size showed they were following us at full speed. Every now and then several more would dart out of the woods and join our pursuers; but not a sound was heard, for wolves, unlike dogs, run mute. We now prepared to receive them, and we removed our heavy outer coats so as to allow us a better chance to shoot. The horses were allowed to trot, though it was all Ivan could do to hold them, as they were pulling the sledge by their bits, whilst they showed by their rolling eyes and quick backward glances, their extreme terror.

Our friends in the rear now numbered fully twenty, and to my surprise they came rushing boldly on, as though we were no more to be feared than some timid deer which they had cornered.

When they had come within thirty yards I gave the foremost my right barrel and instantly followed it with my left among the pack. I saw the leader’s tail go up as he plunged forward on his head, and Komanoff exclaimed that two more had dropped to my second shot. I fully expected that the rest would scatter in all directions, but they did nothing of the kind; they simply fell upon their defunct companions and tore them to pieces almost before they had done kicking, and then immediately resumed their pursuit of us.

When Komanoff saw this he looked rather grave, and told Ivan it would be well to head for home. “For,” said he, “when they eat each other in that manner, it’s a sign that they are starving, and should a large pack gather, we would have a poor chance of escape.”

[Illustration: THEY FLUNG THEMSELVES ON THE OUTSIDE HORSE.]

Accordingly, Ivan let his team go along at an easy gallop. The wolves were again coming along in hot pursuit, and were almost in range, when Ivan uttered a shout, and the horses made a sudden swerve, so that the sledge was nearly upset. Komanoff and I were thrown in a heap in the bottom, his gun being discharged by his fall, fortunately without doing any damage. Quickly recovering ourselves, we saw that a fresh and large pack of wolves had come out of the woods, and had nearly run into us, causing the team to bolt at full speed. I fired right and left into the thick of them (they were only a few yards away), while Komanoff began to empty his revolver.

This fusillade checked them for a few moments, till our original pack had come up and joined them. Then, having devoured the slain, they came for us again with redoubled vigor, their appetites having evidently been sharpened by the taste of blood. As they closed upon us we fired as rapidly as we could load, but without alarming them at all, only a few stopping to bury the dead (in their stomachs), while the main body tried to come up with our horses and sledge.

Komanoff now cut our bait loose, for we had had all the fun we wanted. As the wave of wolves, as one might say, rolled up over it, we fired into the thick of it, and, as they were in a dense mass, must have done considerable execution. But they were only delayed a moment, and on they came again, their long, tireless gallop soon bringing them up with us.

It was indeed a fearful sight, and enough to shake the stoutest nerves. There was that vast pursuing horde, crazy with hunger and wild with lust of blood, dashing after us relentless as death. Their long black bodies swept over the snow, the hindmost constantly leaping over the foremost in their eagerness to press on, their eyes a-shine, with great flecks of foam on breasts and sides, while the glimpses we caught of their long white teeth showed us just what our fate would be should there be an accident to team or vehicle. Komanoff turned to me and said: “If they ever pass us and leap on the horses we are dead men. Keep cool and shoot only those that try to pass on your side and I will do the same on mine.”

So we dashed on for a mile or so, keeping up a rapid fire, and shooting a number of our dusky friends. They were thoroughly in earnest, and made repeated attempts to get at our horses, but so far we had been able to foil them, when suddenly a big gray fellow dashed past on Komanoff’s side (who missed him), and flung himself on the outside horse. Ivan shot at him as he did so, but the horse swerved and stumbled, breaking both traces before he could recover himself. The wolf fell as the ball struck him, but our team was now almost unmanageable, and we were liable to be upset at any moment. Fortunately Ivan kept his head, and succeeded in turning his horses towards a deserted charcoal-burner’s hut, which he knew, and applied his whip lustily, so we dashed forward with renewed speed.

“I know where he is going,” said Komanoff, “but our chance is poor unless the door be open; but it’s our only hope now, therefore be ready to jump the instant I do. Take you the arms, while I help Ivan with the horses.”

A short distance farther and we sighted the cabin. The door was ajar, and as we pulled up I tumbled out the guns, robes and lunch-basket, and with a revolver in each hand faced our pursuers.

Our sudden stop and the rapid crack of my pistols seemed to confuse the pack, and checked them long enough to enable my companions to cut the horses loose. They instantly dashed off through the forest, a portion of our hungry assailants after them in hot pursuit, whilst we ran into the house and barred the door in the faces of those that remained. In a few seconds there was a perfect cloud of wolves round us, some of them frantically digging at the walls, and others trying the door with their teeth. Fortunately it was a stout one, or this story would never have been written.

After resting a little, we found a chink or two in the walls through which we could shoot, and again opened fire. After we had knocked over some twenty-five or thirty of them, the survivors drew off, though they still continued to prowl round and fight over the bones of the dead, for all we shot were instantly devoured by their companions. Meanwhile we had contrived to start a fire, and having eaten our lunch we lit our pipes and waited for day to break, thinking then our savage foes would raise the siege. In this hope we were not disappointed, for as the morning light became clear the wolves sneaked off one by one, casting, however, many wistful glances in our direction. We gave them a few

## parting shots by way of farewell, and as soon as the sun was fairly up

we came out of our house of refuge and started on our five-mile tramp for home.

We had not proceeded far, however, before we met a well-armed company of men coming to look for us, as one of the horses had reached home, and they judged from his condition, as well as the cut harness, that we were in a scrape of some kind. We arrived home safely, and after a good sleep were none the worse for our adventure. The other two horses, however, never turned up, but their bones were found in the forest the following spring not far from the hut, just where the poor animals had been pulled down.

This experience cured me of all desire for wolf hunting, and though I spent several months at the post, and had plenty of sport, I never cared to see a wolf again.

HERNE THE HUNTER.

BY WILLIAM PERRY BROWN.

~Herne the Hunter~ was tall, brown and grizzled. The extreme roundness of his shoulders indicated strength rather than infirmity, while the severing of his great neck at a blow would have made a feudal executioner famous in his craft. An imaginative man might have divined something comely beneath the complex conjunction of lines and ridges that made up his features, but it would have been more by suggestion, however, than by any actual resemblance to beauty traceable thereon. The imprint of strength, severity and endurance was intensified by an open contempt of appearance; only to a subtle second-sight was revealed aught nobler, sweeter and sadder, like faint stars twinkling behind filmy clouds.

Some town-bred Nimrod, with a misty Shakespearean memory, had added to his former patronymic of “Old Herne” that of Windsor’s ghostly visitor. The mountaineers saw the fitness of the title, and “Herne the Hunter” became widely current.

His place of abode was as ambiguous as his history, being somewhere beyond the “Dismal,” amid the upper caves and gorges of the Nantahalah. The Dismal was a weird, wild region of brake and laurel, walled in by lonely mountains, with a gruesome outlet between two great cliffs, that nearly met in mid-air hundreds of feet over a sepulchral cañon, boulder-strewn, and thrashed by a sullen torrent, that led from a dolorous labyrinth, gloomy at midday, and at night resonant with fierce voices and sad sighings.

Far down in Whippoorwill Cove, the mountaineers told savage tales of adventure about the outskirts of the Dismal, yet, beyond trapping round the edges or driving for deer, it was to a great extent a _terra incognita_ to all, unless Herne the Hunter was excepted.

“The devil air in the man, ’nd hopes him out’n places no hones’ soul keers to pester hisse’f long of.”

This was common opinion, though a few averred that “Old Herne ’nd the devil wern’t so master thick atter all.” Said one: “Why, the dinged old fool totes his Bible eroun’ ez riglar ez he do his huntin’-shirt. Onct when the parson wuz holdin’ the big August meetin’ down ter Ebeneezer Meetin’-house, he stepped in. The meetin’ was a gittin’ ez cold ez hen’s feet, ’nd everybody a lookin’ at Herne the Hunter, when down he draps onto his knees, ’nd holdin’ on by his rifle he ’gun ter pray like a house afire. Wal, he prayed ’nd he prayed, ’twel the people, arter thur skeer wuz over, ’gun ter pray ’nd shout too, ’nd fust they all knowed, the front bench wuz plum full of mou’ners. Wal, they hed a hog-killin’ time fur a while, ’nd all sot on by Herne the Hunter, but when they quieted down ’nd begun ter luk fer him--by jing!--he wern’t thar. Nobody hed seed him get erway, ’nd that set ’em ter thinkin’, ’nd the yupshot wuz they hed the bes’ meetin’ old Ebeneezer hed seed in many a year.”

Once a belated hunter discovered, when the fog came down, that he was lost amid the upper gorges of the Nantahalahs. While searching for some cranny wherein to pass the night, he heard a voice seemingly in mid-air before him, far out over an abyss of seething vapor which he feared concealed a portion of the dreaded Dismal. Memories of Herne the Hunter crowded upon him, and he strove to retrace his steps, but fell into a trail that led him to a cave which seemed to bar his further way. The voice came nearer; his blood chilled as he distinguished imprecations, prayers and entreaties chaotically mingled, and all the while approaching him. He fled into the cave, and peering thence, beheld a shadowy form loom through the mist, gesticulating as it came.

A whiff blew aside shreds of the fog, and he saw Herne the Hunter on the verge of a dizzy cliff, shaking his long rifle, his hair disheveled, his eyes dry and fiery, and his huge frame convulsed by the emotions that dominated him. The very fury and pathos of his passion were terrifying, and the watcher shrank back as old Herne, suddenly dropping his rifle, clutched at the empty air, then paused dejectedly.

“Always thus!” he said, in a tone of deep melancholy. “Divine in form--transfigured--beautiful--oh, so beautiful!--yet ever with the same accursed face. I have prayed over these visitations. I have sought in God’s word that confirmation of my hope which should yet save me from despair; but, when rising from my supplications, the blest vision confronts me--the curse is ever there--thwarting its loveliness--reminding me of what was, but will never be again.”

He drew a tattered Bible from his bosom and searched it intently. He was a sight at once forbidding and piteous, as he stood with wind-fluttered garments, his foot upon the edge of a frightful precipice, his head bent over the book as though devouring with his eyes some sacred antidote against the potency of his sorrow. Then he looked up, and the Bible fell from his hands. His eyes became fixed; he again clutched at the air, then fell back with a despairing gesture, averting his face the while.

“Out of my sight!” he cried. “Your eyes are lightning, and your smile is death. I will have no more of you--no more! And yet--O God! O God!--what dare I--what can I do without you?”

He staggered back and made directly for the cavern. The watcher shrank back, while Herne the Hunter brushed blindly by, leaving Bible and rifle on the rock without. Then the wanderer, slipping out, fled down the narrow trail as though there were less peril from the dizzy cliffs around than in the society of the strange man whose fancies peopled these solitudes with such soul-harrowing phantoms.

Thus for years Herne the Hunter had been a mystery, a fear, and a fascination to the mountaineers; recoiling from men, abhorring women, rebuffing curiosity, yet at times strangely tender, sad, and ever morbidly religious. He clung to his Bible as his last earthly refuge from his darker self, and to the aspirations it engendered as a bane to the fatalistic stirrings within him.

He was a mighty hunter and lived upon the proceeds of his skill. Once or twice a year he would appear at some mountain store, fling down a package of skins, and demand its worth in powder and lead. The jean-clad loungers would regard him askance, few venturing to idly speak with him, and none repeating the experiment. His mien daunted the boldest. If women were there he would stand aloof until they left; on meeting them in the road he would sternly avert his eyes as though from a distasteful presence. One day the wife of a storekeeper, waiting on him in her husband’s absence, ventured to say, while wrapping up his purchases:

“I’ve all’ays wonnered, Mr. Herne, what makes ye wanter git outen the wimmen folks’ way? Mos’ men likes ter have ’em eroun’.”

Herne the Hunter frowned heavily, but made no reply.

“I’m shore, if ye had a good wife long with ye way up thar whur ye live, she’d make ye a leetle more like a man ’nd less like a--a--” she hesitated over a term which might censure yet not give offense.

“Like a beast you would say.” He exclaimed then with vehemence: “Were the necks of all women in one, and had I my hands on it, I’d strangle them all, though hell were their portion thereafter.”

He made a gesture as of throttling a giant, snatched his bundle from the woman’s hand and took himself off up the road with long strides.

* * * * *

That night was a stormy one. Herne the Hunter was covering the last ten miles between him and the Dismal in a pelting rain. The incident at the store, trivial as it was, had set his blood aflame. He prayed and fought against himself, oblivious of the elements and the darkness, sheltering his powder beneath his shirt of skins where his Bible lay secure. In his ears was the roar of wind and the groans of the tortured forest. Dark ravines yawned beside him, out of which the wolf howled and the mountain owl laughed; and once came a scream like a child, yet stronger and more prolonged. He knew the panther’s voice, yet he heeded nothing.

At last another cry, unmistakably human, rose nearer by. Then he paused, like a hound over a fresher scent, until it was repeated. He made his way around a shoulder of the mountain, and aided by the gray light of a cloud-hidden moon, approached the figures of a woman, a boy and a horse, all three dripping and motionless.

“Thank God! we will not die here, after all,” exclaimed the female, as Herne the Hunter grimly regarded them. “Oh, sir, we have missed the way. This boy was guiding me to the survey camp of Captain Renfro, my husband, on the upper Swananoa. He has sprained his foot, and we have been lost for hours. Can you take us to a place of shelter? I will pay you well--”

“I hear a voice from the pit,” said Herne, fiercely. “It is the way with your sex. You think, though you sink the world, that with money you can scale Heaven. Stay here--rot--starve--perish--what care I!”

After this amazing outburst he turned away, but her terror of the night overbore her fear of this strange repulse, and she grasped his arm. He shook himself free, though the thrill accompanying her clasp staggered him. For years no woman’s hand had touched him; but at this rebuff she sank down, crying brokenly:

“What shall I do? I should not have started. They warned me below, but I thought the boy knew the way. Oh, sir! if you have a heart, do not leave us here.”

“A heart!” he cried. “What’s that? A piece of flesh that breeds endless woes in bosoms such as yours. All men’s should be of stone--as mine is now!” He paused, then said abruptly; “Up with you and follow me. I neither pity nor sympathize; but for the sake of her who bore me, I will give you such shelter as I have.”

He picked up the boy, who, knowing him, had sat stupefied with fear, and bade the woman follow him.

“But the horse?” she said, hesitating.

“Leave it,” he replied. “The brute is the best among you, but whither we go no horse may follow.”

He turned, taking up the boy in his arms, and she dumbly followed him, trembling, faint, yet nerved by her fears to unusual exertion. So rapid was his gait, encumbered though he was, that she kept him in view with difficulty. Through the gloom she could divine the perils that environed their ever upward way. The grinding of stricken trees, the brawl of swollen waters harrowed her nerves not less than the partial gleams of unmeasured heights and depths revealed by the lightning. A sense of helplessness exaggerated these terrors among the unknown possibilities surrounding her.

It seemed as though they would never stop again. Her limbs trembled, her heart thumped suffocatingly, yet their guide gave no heed, but pressed on as though no shivering woman pantingly dogged his steps. They traveled thus for several miles. She felt herself giving way totally when, on looking up once more, she saw that the hunter had vanished.

“Where am I?” she cried, and a voice, issuing seemingly out of the mountain-side, bade her come on. Her hands struck a wall of rock; on her right a precipice yawned; so, groping toward the left, she felt as she advanced that she was leaving the outer air; the wind and rain no longer beat upon her, yet the darkness was intense.

She heard the voice of the boy calling upon her to keep near. Into the bowels of the mountains she felt her way until a gleam of light shone ahead. She hastened forward round a shoulder of rock into a roomy aperture branching from the main cavern. The boy lay upon a pallet of skins, while Herne the Hunter fixed the flaring pine-knot he had lighted into a crevice of the rock. Then he started a fire, drew out of another crevice some cold cooked meat and filled a gourd with water from a spring that trickled out at one end of the cave.

“Eat,” he said, waving his hand. “Eat--that ye may not die. The more unfit to live, the less prepared for death. Eat!”

With that he turned away and busied himself in bathing and bandaging the boy’s foot, which, though not severely sprained, was for the time quite painful. Mrs. Renfro now threw back the hood of her waterproof and laid the cloak aside. Even old Herne--women hater that he was--could not have found fault with the matronly beauty of her face, unless with its expression of self-satisfied worldliness, as of one who judged others and herself solely by conventional standards, shaped largely by flattery and conceit.

She was hungry--her fears were somewhat allayed, and though rather disgusted at such coarse diet, ate and drank with some relish. Meanwhile, Herne the Hunter turned from the boy for something, and beheld her face for the first time. A water-gourd fell from his hands, his eyes dilated, and he crouched as he gazed like a panther before its unsuspecting prey. Every fibre of his frame quivered, and drops of cold sweat stood out upon his forehead. The boy saw with renewed fear this new phase of old Herne’s dreaded idiosyncrasies. Mrs. Renfro at length raised her eyes and beheld him thus. Instantly he placed his hands before his face, and abruptly left the cavern. Alarmed at his appearance, she ran toward the boy, exclaiming:

“What _can_ be the matter with him? Do you know him?”

“I knows more of him ’n I wants ter,” replied the lad. “Oh, marm, that’s old Herne, ’nd we uns air the fust ones ez hev be’n in hyar whar he stays. I ganny! I thort shore he’d hev yeaten ye up.”

“Well, but who is he?”

“Well, they do say ez the devil yowns him, not but what he air powerful ’ligyus. No one knows much ’bouten him, ’cep’n’ he’s all’ays a projeckin’ eround the Dismal whar no one yelse wants ter be.”

“Has he been here long?”

“Yurs ’nd yurs, they say.” Tommy shook his head as though unable to measure the years during which Herne the Hunter had been acquiring his present unsavory reputation, but solved the riddle by exclaiming: “I reckon he hev all’ays be’n that-a-way.”

An hour or more passed. Tommy fell asleep, while the lady sat musing by his side. She did not feel like sleeping, though much fatigued. Finally she heard a deep sigh behind her, and turning saw the object of her fears regarding her sombrely. The sight of her face appeared to shock him, for he turned half away as he said:

“You have eaten the food that is the curse of life, in that it sustains it. Yet such we are. Sleep, therefore, for you have weary miles to go, ere you can reach the Swananoa.”

There was an indescribable sadness in his tone that touched her, and she regarded him curiously.

“Who are you,” she asked, “and why do you choose to live in such a place as this?”

“Ask naught of me,” he said, with an energy he seemed unable to repress. “Ask rather of yourself who am I and how came I--thus.”

He struck himself upon the breast, and without awaiting an answer again abruptly left the cave. She sat there wondering, trying to weave into definite shape certain vague impressions suggested by his presence, until weariness overcame her and she slept.

Hours after, Herne the Hunter reentered the cave, bearing a torch. His garments were wet, the rain-drops clung to his hair, and his face was more haggard than ever. He advanced towards the slumbering woman softly, and stood over her, gazing mournfully upon her, while large tears rolled down his cheeks. Then his expression changed to one that was stern and vindictive. His hand nervously toyed with the knife in his belt. Milder thoughts again seemed to sway him, and his features worked twitchingly.

“I cannot, I cannot,” he whispered to himself. “The tears I thought forever banished from these eyes return at this sight. There has never been another who could so move me. Though thou hast been my curse, and art yet my hell--I cannot do it. Come! protector of my soul; stand thou between me and all murderous thoughts!”

He drew his Bible from his bosom, kissed it convulsively, then held it as though to guard her from himself, and drawing backward slowly, he again fled into the storm and darkness without.

* * * * *

The gray light of morning rose over the Dismal, though within the cave the gloom still reigned supreme, when Herne the Hunter again stood at the entrance holding a flaring light. Then he said aloud:

“Wake, you that sleep under the shadow of death! Wake, eat, and--pass on!”

Mrs. Renfro aroused herself. The boy, however, slept on. Herne fixed his torch in the wall, and replenished the fire. Then he withdrew, apparently to give the lady privacy in making her toilet.

She was stiff in limb and depressed in mind. After washing at the spring, she wandered listlessly about the cave, surveying old Herne’s scanty store of comforts. Suddenly she paused before a faded picture, framed in long, withered moss, that clung to an abutment of the rock. It was that of a girl, fair, slender and ethereal. There was a wealth of hair, large eyes, and features so faultless that the witching sense of self-satisfaction permeating them, added to rather than marred their loveliness.

The lady--glancing indifferently--suddenly felt a thrill and a pain. A deadly sense of recognition nearly overcame her, as this memento--confronting her like a resurrected chapter of the past--made clear the hitherto inexplicable behavior of their host. She recovered, and looked upon it tenderly, then shook her head gently and sighed.

“You cannot recognize it!” said a deep voice behind her. “You dare not! For the sake of your conscience--your hope in heaven--your fear of hell--you dare not recognize and look upon me!”

She did not look round, though she knew that Herne the Hunter stood frowning behind, but trembled in silence as he went on with increasing energy:

“What does that face remind you of? See you aught beneath that beauty but treachery without pity, duplicity without shame? Lo! the pity and the shame you should have felt have recoiled upon me--me, who alone have suffered.” He broke off abruptly, as though choked by emotion. She dared not face him; she felt incapable of a reply. After a pause, he resumed, passionately: “Oh! Alice, Alice! The dead rest, yet the living dead can only endure. Amid these crags, and throughout the solitude of years, I have fought and refought the same old battle; but with each victory it returns upon me, strengthened by defeat, while with me all grows weaker but the remorselessness of memory and the capacity for pain.”

She still stood, with bowed head, shivering as though his words were blows.

“Have you nothing to say?” he asked. “Does that picture of your own youth recall no vanished tenderness for one who--self-outcast of men--fell to that pass through you?”

“I have a husband,” she murmured, almost in a whisper.

“Aye, and because of that husband I have no wife--no wife--no wife!” His wailing repetition seemed absolutely heartbroken; but sternly he continued: “You have told me where he is. I say to you--hide him--hide him from me! Even this”--he struck his bosom with his Bible feverishly--“may not save him. I have prayed and wrought, but it is as nothing--nothing--when I think--when I remember. Therefore, hide him from me--lest I slay him--”

“You would not--you dare not harm him!” She faced him now, a splendid picture of an aroused wife and mother. “He is not to blame--he knew you not--he has been good to me--and--and--I love him.”

He shrank from the last words as though from a blow, and stood cowering. Then he hissed out:

“Let me not find him. Hide him--hide him!”

Tommy here awoke with a yawn, and announced that his foot was about well. Herne, closing his lips, busied himself about preparing breakfast, which cheerless meal was eaten in silence. When they finally emerged from the cave the sun was peeping into the Dismal below them; bright gleams chased the dark shadows down the cliffs, and the morning mists were melting. The storm was over; there was a twitter of birds, the tinkle of an overflowing burn, and a squirrel’s bark emphasizing the freshness of the morn. The pure air entered the lips like wine, and Mrs. Renfro felt her depression roll off as they retraced the devious trail of the night before.

They found the lady’s horse standing dejectedly near where he had been left. The fog, in vast rolls, was climbing out of the Dismal, disclosing dark masses of forest below. The flavor of pine and balsam slept beneath the trees, every grass blade was diamond-strewn, and every sound vivified by the sense of mighty walls and unsounded depths.

After Mrs. Renfro had mounted, Herne the Hunter swept an arm around. The scene was savage and sombre, despite the sunlight. The intensity of the solitude about them dragged upon the mind like a weight.

“Behold,” he said sadly, “this is my world. I can tolerate no other.”

She inwardly shuddered; then a wave of old associations swept over her mind. Beneath the austerity of the man, beyond his selfish nurture of affliction, she--for the moment--remembered him as he once was, homely, kindly, enthusiastic and true. Had _she_ indeed changed him to this? Or was it not rather the imperativeness of a passion, unable to endure or forget her preference of another? Whatever the cause, her heart now ached for him, though she feared him.

“Come with us,” she said. “You were not made to live thus.”

“I cannot--I dare not. It will take months to undo the misery of this meeting.”

“My husband--”

“Do not name him!” he cried fiercely; then abruptly lowering his tone, he said, with infinite sadness: “Ask me no more. Yonder, by that white cliff, lies the Swananoa trail you missed yesterday. The kindest thing you can do is to forget that you have seen me. Farewell!”

He turned away and swung himself down the mountain-side into the Dismal. She saw the rolling mists close over him, and remained motionless in a reverie so deep that the boy spoke twice to her before she turned her horse’s head and followed him.

* * * * *

Above the surveyor’s camp lay the Swananoa Gap, a gloomy, precipitous gorge through which the river lashed itself into milder reaches below. Mrs. Renfro found her husband absent. With a single assistant he had started for the upper defiles, intending to be gone several days. They told her that he would endeavor to secure the services of Herne the Hunter as a guide, as one knowing more of that wilderness than any one else.

Here was fresh food for wifely alarm. Herne had never met her husband, yet the latter’s name would make known his relationship to herself. She shuddered over the possibilities that might result from their sojourn together--far from aid--in those wild mountains, and made herself wretched for a week in consequence.

Meanwhile the transient fine weather passed; the rains once more descended, and the peaks of Nantahalah were invisible for days amid a whirl of vapor. The boom of the river, the grinding of forest limbs, the shriek of the wind, made life unusually dreary at the camp. She lay awake one night when the elements were apparently doing their worst. Her husband was still absent--perhaps alone with a possible maniac, raving over the memory of fancied wrongs.

Finally another sound mingled with and at last overmastered all others--something between a crash and a roar, interblended with sullen jars and grindings. Near and nearer it came. She sprang to the tent-floor and found her feet in the water. The darkness was intense. What could be the matter? Fear overcame her resolution and she shrieked aloud.

A man bearing a lantern burst into the tent with a hoarse cry. Its gleams showed her Herne the Hunter, drenched, draggled, a ghastly cut across his face, with the blood streaming down, his long hair flying, and in his eyes a fierce flame.

“I feared I would not find you,” he shouted, for the roar without was now appalling. “It is a cloud-burst above. In five minutes this hollow will be fathoms deep. The tents lower down are already gone. Come!”

He had seized and was bearing her out.

“Save--alarm the others!” she cried.

“You first--Alice.”

In that dread moment she detected the hopelessness with which he called her thus, as though such recognition was wrung from his lips by the pain he hugged, even while it rended him.

“My husband?” she gasped, growing faint over the thought of his possible peril--or death.

“Safe,” he hissed through his clenched teeth, for his exertions were tremendous. With a fierce flap the tent was swept away as they left it. About his knees the waters swirled, while limbs and other floating débris swept furiously by.

What seemed to her minutes--though really seconds--passed amid a terrific jumble of sounds, while the rain fell in sheets. It seemed as though the invisible mountains were dissolving. They were, however, slowly rising above the floods. She heard Herne’s hard breathing, and felt his wild heart-throbs as he held her close. Something heavy struck them, or rather him, for he shielded her. One of his arms fell limp, and he groaned heavily. Then she swooned away, with a fleeting sensation of being grasped by some one else.

Later, when she revived, there was a great hush in the air. Below, the river gently brawled; there was a misty darkness around, and the gleam of a lantern held before a dear and familiar form.

“Husband--is it you?” she murmured.

“Yes, yes,” said Captain Renfro, “I thought I had lost you. You owe your life to Herne the Hunter. In fact, but for him I would have been overwhelmed myself.”

“Where is he?” she asked feebly.

“The men are searching for him. Just as one of them got hold of you, he fell back--something must have struck him, and the flood swept him off. I tell you, Alice, that man--crazy or not--is a hero. We were on our way down and had camped above the Gap, when the cloud-burst came. We knew you all would be overwhelmed before we could get round here by the trail; so what does Herne do but send us on horseback by land, while he scoots down that cañon in a canoe--little better than an eggshell. Risked his life in that awful place to get here in time. I insisted on going with him at first.”

“Just like you, George,” said the wife fondly, though in her mind’s eye came a vision of Herne the Hunter battling with that Niagara to save and unite the two, through whom his own life had been made a burden. She sighed and clasped her husband’s hand, while he resumed:

“I was a fool, I expect, for the canoe would have swamped under both of us. He knew this, and ordered me off with a look I did not like; there was madness in it. Well, we hurried round by the trail with one lantern; Herne took the other. When we got here, you were apparently dead, Herne and two of the men swept off--the camp gone from below, and so on.”

A cry was now heard. Several men hastened down, and soon lights were seen returning. Four of them bore Herne the Hunter. One arm and a leg were broken, and his skull crushed in; yet the wonderful vitality of the man had kept him alive and sensible.

“We found him clinging to a sapling,” said one. “But he’s about gone--poor fellow!”

Poor fellow, indeed! Mrs. Renfro felt the lumps rise in her throat as she gazed upon that wreck, and thought. Presently Herne opened his eyes--already filling with the death-mist--and his gaze fell upon her face.

“Alice,” he whispered, “my troubles--are over. This”--he tugged at something in his bosom with his uninjured arm, when some one drew forth his Bible, drenched and torn--“ this saved me. I could have killed him--” he glanced at Renfro, who amid his pity now wondered. “I could--but--I saved you. And--now--Jesus--have mercy--”

These were his last words, for in another minute Herne the Hunter was a thing of the past, and a weeping woman bent over him. After that there was silence for a while. Then the wife said to her husband, while the others removed the dead man:

“It was his misfortune, not my fault, that he loved me. Has he not made amends?”

And the husband, with his hands clasped in hers, could find no other heart than to say:

“Aye--most nobly!”

[Illustration]

AN OUTING.

Down country lanes, O’er treeless plains, And seas of prairie grasses, I wheel along, With cheers and song To every breeze that passes.

I leave the town, Walls bare and brown, The bustling, sordid masses-- The business boom Of counting-room, The dandies, dudes, and asses.

Awheel, awheel, The miles I reel, Afar from heated highways, And odors greet Of verdure sweet, Along the country by-ways.

By fields of grain, O’er daisy plain, Adown the pretty valley; By drowsy kine, By cot and vine, So joyfully I sally.

O, healthful steed! My only creed, Beyond dissent or doubting, Is Nature’s way, In holiday Upon a summer outing.

_Jay Gee._

MEMORIES OF YACHT CRUISES.

BY THE LATE CAPTAIN R. F. COFFIN.

No. IV.

Despite the charms of the cruise on an individual yacht, much is to be said in favor of the cruise in squadron. The cruise in the solitary craft may be very pleasant at first, but it is apt to become monotonous after a few days, unless the party on board has been most happily selected. While _en route_ from port to port every craft bound in the same direction is at once made a contestant in an improvised race, and unless she, too, is a yacht, she is too easily disposed of. As has been often proven, the slowest of the yachts is more than a match for the fastest coasting vessel. Probably the fastest vessels encountered will be the fishing schooners, and some of these nowadays sport nearly as much fancy canvas as the yachts do. They are finely modeled craft, and generally sail, as the yacht does, in good ballast trim. As a matter of course, they are admirably handled, and occasionally the tedium of the individual cruise is enlivened by a more or less spirited trial of speed with a well-appointed fishing schooner. Always, however, so far as my experience goes, these trials end in favor of the pleasure craft, none of which can properly be considered slow, except by comparison with some other yacht. Nothing proves more conclusively that yachting means racing than the fact that the chief interest and pleasure of the individual cruise arise from these chance contests with vessels encountered _en route_.

Now, in the squadron cruise all this is furnished to hand, and as part of the regular order of things. Each passage between ports is a race, and each yacht selects her class competitors, and cares for the movement of no others in the fleet. Very much more now than formerly, care is taken to have these races fair, and a matter of official record. In some instances the New York Yacht Club has hired a tug to accompany the yachts for the whole cruise, and from her the time is taken accurately at the start and finish of each day’s sail. Commodore Gerry (as noted in the September ~Outing~) has the regatta committee on the _Electra_, and makes a specialty of having a correct record of the daily runs kept, making manifold copies of the result, and sending a copy to each yacht almost as soon as her anchor is down. This increases the interest in the cruise immensely. The New York, however, is the only club, except, of course, the American, which has a steam yacht for its flagship, and certainly there are few commodores who would take the trouble that Mr. Gerry does. I have no hesitation in saying that he is, in this respect, the best commodore that the old club has ever had.

In the Eastern, the Atlantic, the Seawanhaka, and other clubs which cruise in squadron, this matter of accuracy in timing is receiving more and more attention each year. In the printed orders of the commodore it is expressly provided that the first yacht to arrive at a designated point shall note her own time, and then the times of all that follow, and shall report the same to the commodore. The start is not entirely fair, as it is made by general signal, and some yachts must of necessity, where the squadron is large, be in a better position than others. It is, however, the much-vaunted “one-gun start,” so strenuously advocated--for no reason that I can think of except that it is the style common in Great Britain. The British clubs, however, rarely start a large fleet, and where there are but five or six yachts, comparatively little trouble need be feared from permitting them all to crowd upon the line at once; while if there were thirty, forty, or more, vessels, confusion, and perhaps collision, would certainly result. After all, what can be fairer than the present American method of timing each yacht to a second at start and finish?

It is the continuous series of races, then, which gives the squadron cruise a charm lacking in all other forms of yachting; but it also has other attractions. The interchange of visits between the guests on the different yachts, the jolly dinners, the pleasant shore parties--all these make the cruise exceedingly pleasant, and no club whose fleet is at all respectable should fail to encourage it. None, of course, can present such a fleet of fine vessels as the New York, Atlantic and Eastern clubs; but much enjoyment may be had, even if the fleet is not so imposing. The Knickerbocker Club can in numbers equal any, and its short cruises--generally in the early part of July--have been very enjoyable. The cruise of the Seawanhaka Corinthian Club this year was a great success, although its fleet was not large. The Larchmont Yacht Club has never yet found itself in a position to essay the cruise, but as in all other respects it has placed itself in the front rank, it may well be expected to in the future.

The difficulty where the yacht is small is to accommodate the guests. Roughing it is all very well in theory, but in practice it is unsatisfactory. Men on a pleasure trip do not care to rough it. There is also a difficulty in the small craft to find stowage for water and ice, two prime necessities; but if the runs are made short, so that the supply may be replenished daily, the small craft can manage very well, and I think in the future the annual cruise will become as much a regular feature of the yacht club programme as is the annual regatta.

If I am not mistaken, the Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club had its first cruise in July, 1879, and it _was_ a Corinthian one, only a few professionals being allowed on the yachts. Well, it’s all right for the guests on board a yacht to take a pull at sheets or halliards once in a while, but as for doing all the deck duty, turning out and washing down the decks, cleaning the bright work, and making and taking in sail continuously all day long, it is quite absurd. But this has to be done, if the wind be paltry and baffling. But as for calling it amusement, I think that when turning a grindstone becomes a pleasurable occupation, then strict Corinthian yachting will be a pastime, and not until then.

The Corinthian Club, on this its first cruise, assembled at Glen Cove, and sailed thence to Black Rock, with a fleet composed of one schooner and four sloops; among them the _Schemer_, then owned by Mr. C. S. Lee, who was lost last March in the yawl _Cythera_. He was a very intelligent gentleman, and one of the most skillful of the yachting men of the time.

Mr. Lee was one of the earliest converts to the cutter theory, and in 1881 he had the cutter _Oriva_ built from a design by John Harvey, who at that time was in business in London. Her advent not only introduced a new style in design, but also in workmanship, she being by all odds the best constructed yacht ever built in this country. She was not as narrow as the ordinary British cutter of her length at that time, and would have been still better had she been given another foot of beam. At that time, however, there was a mistaken notion on the part of those most violently affected by the “cutter craze,” as it was called, that the British yachts sailed fast because they were narrow. People wholly ignored the fact that each builder made his yacht as broad as possible under the rule, and as soon as it was relaxed the _Thistle_ was produced, by far the most speedy cutter yet turned out from a British yard. I think that, should a 90-foot boat be designed as a challenger for the _America’s_ Cup, the _Thistle’s_ proportion of beam to length will probably be exceeded in her, and that her success will be greater than that of the Scotch challenger.

At the time of this first cruise of the Seawanhaka Club, Mr. Samuel J. Colgate, of the schooner _Idler_, was the commodore, but the fleet on this cruise was under the command of its vice-commodore, Oliver E. Cromwell, and the schooner _Eddie_ was the flagship.

From Black Rock the fleet sailed to New London. At that port it was joined by the _Muriel_, another of the Harvey cutters built in this country, and which antedated the _Oriva_ by some three years. The first spar plan of this cutter was entirely too small, and her performance for her two first seasons only confirmed the centreboard men in their opinions as to the superiority of the broad and shallow model.

The Seawanhaka fleet went on to Newport, and later to New Bedford, where the cruise practically ended, the flagship having carried away her foremast on the passage from Newport.

The cruise of the Seawanhaka Club in 1880 was under the command of Commodore W. A. W. Stewart, who recently owned the yawl _Cythera_, which he had purchased in England, and who was lost in her. His loss, like that of Mr. Lee, who accompanied him as his friend and guest, was most serious to the yachting interests of this city, and one from which the Corinthian Club, of which these two gentlemen were the chief supports, will hardly recover.

The fleet of the club on this cruise was larger than in the previous year. It had as schooners the _Wanderer_, Mr. James Stillman, and the _Clytie_, Mr. Anson Phelps Stokes; and there were nine sloops, the _Regina_ carrying the pennant of the commodore. The fleet assembled at Glen Cove, July 13, and sailed thence to Morris Cove, at the entrance to the harbor of New Haven, a most inconvenient stopping-place. It is four miles from the city, has an inconvenient landing-place, and except in the daytime there is no regular communication with the city. No supplies of any kind can be obtained there. Still it is handy for a fleet of small yachts bound from Glen Cove, being about half way to New London.

At this latter port, whither the fleet next proceeded, it remained for a day, and had a sweepstake race between three of its sloops, for the delectation of the lady guests at the Pequot House, with whom, of course, the Corinthian “tars” were great favorites. This harbor will always be a favorite stopping-place for yachts. From the first of June until the first of October there is hardly a day that one or more of the pleasure fleet may not be seen at anchor off the Pequot House, or off the Edgecombe House, on the opposite side of the harbor. There is good water clear up to the city, for the largest yachts; supplies of all kinds are as abundant and cheap as in this city. There are facilities for hauling out, and several well-appointed shipyards where any kind of work on hull, rigging, spars or sails can be well done, at a fair price. In the afternoon the wind as a general thing is fair for a run up to the city, and in the early morning there is usually, during the summer months, a light air from the northward to bring the yachts back to the anchorage at the mouth of the harbor.

The fleet this year, as in that previous, went on to New Bedford, where some racing had been arranged. Stormy weather prevented this, and a return to Newport was made, where the cruise ended.

The Atlantic Yacht Club, this year, had a fine muster of yachts, excelling, I think, that of any previous cruise. It left Whitestone July 31, under command of Commodore L. A. Fish, the present owner of the _Grayling_, with seven schooners and seventeen sloops. Its flagship was the schooner _Agnes_, the same which capsized at her anchor, with sails furled, while lying off Staten Island, in a hard squall last June. Her mishap has always been a mystery to me, for although an extremely shallow vessel, she had great initial stability. The squall must have been extremely heavy.

The fleet pursued its usual route from Whitestone to Black Rock, where it remained over Sunday, and started the next day for New London. Here, on Monday evening, a ball in its honor was given at the Edgecombe House, and then, varying the ordinary route, it went to Block Island. Two or three attempts have been made by different yacht clubs to utilize Block Island as a stopping-place, but never with any satisfactory result. The anchorage is bad, and the harbor is but an apology for such. However, the Atlantic club desired to skip Newport if it were possible. The passage to New Bedford from Block Island was rather rough, and a stormy time there spoiled the hospitable intentions of the New Bedford Yacht Club in its behalf. There is no port at which the cruising yachtsman tarries, where he receives a warmer welcome than at the city of New Bedford. It is a hard place to emigrate from. As a harbor, however, it has its disadvantages; the entrance is narrow, and, with the wind blowing in, large and sluggishly-working yachts have to tow out.

The Atlantic club went on to Cottage City and had a great time there. Mr. Joseph Spinney entertained the members and guests at his cottage, and there were fireworks on the yachts, etc. Next day the fleet sailed for Newport. This plan of taking Newport in on the return to the westward is an excellent one, and the beat back from Cottage City is a better test of the qualities of the yachts than all the previous runs have been. From Newport the club ran over to Greenport, where it disbanded. It was by far the most successful cruise which the club has ever had, and I doubt whether it has ever been improved upon; much of this, of course, being due to its excellent commodore. Whatever Mr. Fish undertakes he accomplishes, as a rule, successfully.

The fleets of the New York and Eastern yacht clubs were joined in the cruise of 1880, the Eastern club coming west as far as New London, where it had to wait one day longer than had been expected on account of the tardy movement of the New York fleet. They had been delayed by calm weather on the passage from Glen Cove. Together, the two fleets went over to Shelter Island, making a magnificent display in front of the Manhansett House. From there, the combined squadrons sailed to Newport and thence to New Bedford, where there was a set race in which seven schooners and eleven sloops were started. The schooner _Halcyon_, then owned by General Paine, made the best time over the course, but the _Peerless_ captured the prize from her on allowance of time. The _Halcyon_ was originally a New York yacht and only of fair average speed; but after General Paine had purchased her, that skillful yachtsman experimented with her to such good purpose that he made her the fastest light-weather schooner in the fleets. For years, when the New York yachts raced in Eastern waters, she regularly captured the prizes.

The _Peerless_, which won on this occasion on allowance of time, was originally rigged as a sloop, having been built by the Poillons, in Brooklyn, for Mr. J. Rogers Maxwell, the present owner of the sloop _Shamrock_. She did not please the leading experts of the time, one of whom christened her “the Bull Pup.” Mr. Maxwell, however, was not discouraged, and he finally made of her a fairly fast sloop. He then lengthened her and altered her rig to that of a schooner, and as such made her the fastest second-class schooner in America. At the time of this race she belonged to the New Bedford Yacht Club, having been sold to Vice-Commodore Hathaway of that club. The two squadrons proceeded together to Vineyard Haven, where, after the usual interchange of courtesies, the Eastern club parted company, going on to Boston, while the New York club returned to Newport, where it disbanded, having been kept together for ten days.

This was the year that the steel cutter _Vanduara_ came out in English waters, and created such a _furore_. The New York yachtsmen on their return from this cruise were greeted by rumors from across the Atlantic that another bid was about to be made for the _America’s_ Cup. This rumor did not trouble them much, but in the light of subsequent events, it is tolerably certain that if the _Vanduara_ had come in 1881, as threatened, she would have carried the cup back to England in her locker. Fortunately, or otherwise--for I do not know that it would be a misfortune if the cup was fairly captured by a foreign club--the _Vanduara_ did not come, but the _Atalanta_ did, and was disposed of with all ease.

The schooner _Agnes_ was the flagship of the Atlantic club during the cruise of 1881, once more carrying the pennant of Commodore Fish. In number, the fleet was not as large as in the previous year, but there were five schooners and twelve sloops in the squadron when it left Black Rock, a very respectable fleet. The same old route was pursued--New London, Shelter Island, Newport and New Bedford; but here the monotony of the cruise was varied by a race, the entries comprising four New Bedford and three Atlantic club schooners and six Atlantic and seven New Bedford sloops. The New Bedford schooner _Peerless_ and the Atlantic sloop _Fanita_ and New Bedford sloops _Hesper_ and _Nixie_ were the winners in the several classes, so the honors were decidedly with the New Bedford club, as it captured three out of the four prizes.

The cruise of the New York Yacht Club for the year 1881 promised at its beginning to be the most brilliant in its history. It assembled at New London under the command of Commodore Waller, with the _Dauntless_ as the flagship. By way of opening the cruise in an interesting manner, Mr. Charles Minton, who was then the secretary, offered a $250 cup for a schooner prize on the run to Newport the following day, to be taken by the first yacht in, without allowance of time. It was shrewdly suspected that the secretary believed that without allowance of time there was no yacht in the fleet which could beat the _Dauntless_, on board which he was sailing, and that he intended the cup as a prize for the commodore. Had the start been made as arranged, all would have been well; but at the hour named a fog hung over the harbor and Sound like a pall, and there was scarcely any wind, so the race for the Secretary’s Cup was declared off.

In the afternoon, however, the fog lifted, a good breeze sprang up, and the fleet started. When the schooner _Tidal Wave_ passed Point Judith, there was not a schooner in the fleet which was not hull down astern of her. It had been resolved to sail for the Secretary’s Cup the next day from Brenton’s Reef Lightship to Clark’s Point, off New Bedford; but in view of the performance of the _Tidal Wave_ in this run from New London, she seemed a certain winner, and such a state of affairs was

## particularly distasteful to Fleet-Captain Robert Center and the others

on board the flagship.

What was to be done to avert the threatened calamity? I know not who was responsible for the action, and should not state it if I did, for it was peculiarly disgraceful. A half hour before the start, Fleet-Captain Center rowed through the fleet and gave notice that no yacht could sail for the Secretary’s Cup unless the owner was on board. By a curious coincidence, as the elder Mr. Weller might have said, the only yacht which did not have her owner on board was the _Tidal Wave_, the yacht which had run all the other schooners out of sight on the previous day.

No meeting of the club had taken place in the meanwhile, and where any one obtained authority for such an unheard-of rule it is impossible to say. Captain Center, however, frankly admitted at New Bedford the next day, that the action was taken solely with a view to barring out the _Tidal Wave_. He, however, based his action on a personal feeling against Captain “Joe” Elsworth, who, because he had sailed the _Countess of Dufferin_ in her second race for the _America’s_ Cup, had excited Captain Center’s ire. He had determined--so he said--that Captain “Joe” should never again sail for a cup in the New York Yacht Club. Since that time, as we all know, the club and the public have been glad to avail themselves of Captain Elsworth’s skill, and he has been an important factor in the preservation of the great yachting trophy. After all, this disgraceful business was not at all necessary; for although the _Tidal Wave_ started with the fleet, and although Captain Elsworth did his best to get to Clark’s Point ahead of the lot, the little New Bedford schooner _Peerless_, the once despised “Bull Pup” of the New York experts, captured the Secretary’s Cup.

Of course, after this plain expression of feeling on the part of the officers of the club, Captain Elsworth could not consent to remain with the squadron, and immediately left it. The result was the loss of the only light-weather schooner that had any chance against the _Halcyon_, and in the races which were sailed while the fleet was at New Bedford for the cups presented by Mr. E. A. Buck of the _Spirit of the Times_, the _Halcyon_, as usual, captured the schooner prize.

This was rather a disastrous cruise, although it had promised so fairly. Commodore Waller had gone to the expense of having a large barge towed to New Bedford, and on board her a ball was given, the music being furnished from New York. But there were several days of foggy weather which interfered materially with the programme. Finally a start was made, from Vineyard Haven for Boston, but, threatening weather being encountered, the fleets returned to Vineyard Haven, and the Eastern club concluded to part company and go to Newport. So it was arranged that next day, if the weather was favorable, the New York club should go on to Boston. During the day, however, there were many defections, and next morning but a small fleet remained. The commodore also was taken seriously ill, and the fleet was disbanded. No cruise ever cost flag-officers so much money, and none was ever less satisfactory.

The Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club postponed its cruise this year until August, hoping to have the British cutter _Madge_ accompany it, but the canny Scotchman who had charge of her did not care to have her speed measured with other yachts until her regular races came on. The club made its muster at Whitestone on this occasion, and went from there to Morris Cove. Commodore Stewart had his pennant on the schooner _Sea Drift_, and his fleet was very small, there being, besides this schooner, only seven sloops. Among these was the cutter _Oriva_, on her first cruise. The cruise was very tame, and only extended as far as Newport. It was the summer of President Garfield’s death, and he was just hovering between life and death when the club started, a circumstance which prevented some of the yacht owners from joining.

Although the Seawanhaka club did not obtain much credit from its annual cruise in 1881, it covered itself with glory by its matches with the cutter _Madge_. There can be no doubt but that the two sloops selected as the champions of the club in the _Madge_ contests were as good as any of their sizes in the club. It is equally certain that they were brought to the line in a miserably slipshod condition. The fact was, that at that time the yachting men of this country had the most thorough contempt for the British cutter. Captain Ira Smith, who sailed the _Schemer_ in her race with the _Madge_, when his attention was called to the miserably setting topsail on his yacht--an old one borrowed for the occasion--shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh! it’s good enough; anything will do to beat that thing,” pointing to the cutter, which was lying a short distance away attired in one of Lapthorn’s most perfect suits; and the captain’s remark exactly expressed the general feeling at that time.

Mr. Henry Steers, Captain “Joe” Elsworth, and many members of the clubs had been to England and had seen these yachts sail, and knew that they were speedy; but their utterances were received with incredulity. “They sail well enough when compared with each other,” it was said, “but put them alongside of our centreboard yachts and they will be beaten easily.” The average Bay Shore boatman hitched up his trousers and said oracularly: “It stands to reason them things away down on their sides can’t sail; a boat has got to have bottom fur to sail on.”

Had the _Madge_ been the _Vanduara_, the _America’s_ Cup would have gone back to Great Britain, beyond a peradventure. That was one chance of which John Bull failed to avail himself; he has another this season--will he avail himself of it? _Quien sabe?_

ON BLADES OF STEEL.

BY D. BOULTON HERRALD.

To the enthusiastic skater even the pleasures afforded by the enclosed rink are manifold, but who will compare them to those offered by the far-stretching reach of the frozen river or lake?

However tastefully decorated the rink may be, it cannot bear comparison with the arena supplied by Nature. Instead of flags and streamers we have the green pines on the distant hill-tops, while closer at hand the trees, clothed with leaves of autumn tints, are painted by Nature’s brush. The carpet of brown, withered ferns and grass is dotted here and there with drifted heaps of early snow. In place of long lines of promenading, gossiping humanity, our boundaries are the barren shores, their sameness relieved here by an upturned boat and there a stranded log. Replacing the glare of the electric light, we have the sun’s genial rays, or the softer and more beauteous moon. Gone is the damp vapor that will ever arise from even the best-appointed rink, and we can revel in the crisp and bracing air of autumn. Surely, then, is outdoor skating entitled to the palm. In the rink the never-ceasing round from left to right, and, at the sound of the bell, from right to left, grows wearily monotonous, even though the most charming of partners may glide by one’s side. Round and round the skaters promenade in endless procession. You dare not go too fast nor yet too slow, for the one will surely bring you into collision with some one who blocks the way; the other will still more certainly run some one into _you_.

But in the glorious open all is changed. Your skates locked on, away you glide, fast or slow, turning and twisting without let or hindrance, as fancy prompts your path. Do not go near that hole! Beware of yonder stick! Though half hidden in the ice, it yet projects enough to catch the point of your skate and give you an ugly “cropper.” Crack! You are on thin ice. Keep nearer to the shore. Who is this coming up behind so fast? He evidently wishes to have a “brush,” and you are not unwilling.

So on you fly, past the creek, with timorous children and girls covering its surface. They prefer to skate over the shallows to trusting themselves upon the deeper river. Here’s the deserted pottery, bleak and dismal, with sashes that hold naught but the ragged edges of the panes that once kept out the weather--victims of the small boy and his “sling.” And here the Fair Grounds, the long rows of whitewashed stabling, grand-stand and buildings glaring in the bright sunshine. The oblong race track recalls memories of the close finish between “Little Vic” and “Chestnut Jim.” How your heart stopped still until “Vic” showed her nose under the wire, a short head to the good, for she carried your “pile” on her handsome shoulders! On and on, until the bridge stops your progress. The ice beneath it is not of sufficient strength to bear your weight.

Then, after walking across the road and climbing the fences, you come to the narrows, where the ice is ever frail. Keep well in, under the trees, skate swiftly, and do not tumble, or you will surely get a ducking. Halloa! the man ahead seems to be in difficulties. He has fallen into a water-hole! Now, put on a burst and try to avoid meeting with a like mishap. You near the victim as he stands over the waist in water. His coat collar seems to offer a good hold--and the idea is no sooner thought of than acted on. As you pass, you grasp him, and with the impetus of your speed drag him from his involuntary bath to a spot where the ice is firm.

[Illustration: “PUT YOUR SKATES ON, MISS?”]

He betrays ingratitude, however, of the basest description, for he consigns you to a hotter place than--skating, because, forsooth, you gathered some of his back hair in your fist. Well, such is life! “Men were _ungrateful_ ever.”

Now you near the worst place yet encountered, open water, with ice here and there between the boulders on the shore. In and out you thread your way, dulling the skate blades sadly on the stones; but soon the obstruction is passed, and the “going” is again good. There, to the right, is the tamarac swamp, where you have bowled over many a “bunny” and many a grouse. There the wooded point where you had such a pleasant picnic and met jolly Miss Jones. But duck your head, for here is the railroad bridge, and in case of contact with those jutting iron bolts your cranium would be apt to come out second best.

Why, here we are at the locks already! A short four miles it has seemed, covered in little more than twenty minutes. Now off with the “acmes,” for why should one blunt them, or stumble over the portage like a drunken man, when he can so easily unlock the skates and saunter over comfortably?

Another mile and a half is passed, and a second set of lock-gates is reached, which must be crossed ere we can come to the lake-like expanse on their farther side, made by the widening of the river. Halloa! there is a sail, and a large one at that. What can it be? Oh, the ice-boat, of course. How stupid of me not to think of it before.

When we cross over the rise the boat comes into full view, dashing along at high speed as it tacks from shore to shore. It is the only craft of the kind in Central Canada, and is consequently regarded as a wonderful machine. To me, however, it looks a crude affair indeed, after the far-famed fleets that grace the frozen waters of the Hudson.

Mile after mile we skim along, now jumping a crack, now avoiding a miniature drift of snow. The sun is in my eyes, and I cannot keep a good lookout. Suddenly I am startled by a warning shout, which brings me to a standstill to discover that there is open water but a few feet ahead.

The shadows of evening are falling, so we turn homeward. The scenes of the outward journey meet the eye again, mellowed in the deepening twilight. At length we reach the landing, with a keen appetite for dinner, and in a condition to thoroughly enjoy the after-dinner pipe before an open fire, and the perusal of the latest novel.

[Illustration]

OUTDOOR LIFE OF THE PRESIDENTS.

BY JOHN P. FOLEY.

III.--ANDREW JACKSON.

The life of Andrew Jackson has been tersely described as “a battle and a march.” Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, were all born in the purple of slavery. They were the sons of wealthy planters; educated at the best schools; provided with private tutors, and, with one exception, graduated from the leading colleges of the period. They moved in the best circles of society, and could choose whatever profession or pursuit they pleased. Seats in the House of Burgesses of Virginia awaited them as soon as they became of age, and whatever other political preferment young native-born Americans could obtain under the colonial régime was easily within their reach. Very different the early life and fortune of Andrew Jackson, the fifth of the Southern Presidents.

Two years before he was born his father was a poor linen weaver in the North of Ireland, beaten in the struggle for existence and preparing with some of his relatives to emigrate to the new world. This little colony, made up of Jacksons and Crawfords, landed at Charleston, in 1765, and immediately started for the Waxhaw settlement, which lay

## partly in North and partly in South Carolina, in the region bordering

on the Catawba River. This point, no doubt, was chosen because a number of colonists from the same part of Ireland had already made their homes there. The Crawfords bought good land in the centre of the settlement, while the Jacksons, not having the means to purchase, went on new land some miles distant. There Jackson, senior, built a hut and began to clear the woods around him. At the end of two years he became ill and died. Mr. Parton, in his excellent life of President Jackson, tells us that the widow, accompanied by her little family, brought the remains of her husband in a rude wagon out of the wilderness to the Waxhaw churchyard, and did not again return home after the interment. Instead, she went to the house of a brother-in-law, and in a few days gave birth to a son, whom she named Andrew. The log-house, where this event took place on March 15, 1767, was at a point on the North Carolina side, less than a quarter of a mile from the boundary line between the two provinces; so that the hero of New Orleans, many years later, erred in the matter of his nativity, when, in his celebrated manifesto to the nullifiers of South Carolina, he addressed them as “Fellow-Citizens of my native State.” Mrs. Jackson, at the end of three weeks, left her eldest son to assist this relative on his farm and went with her second son and the infant Andrew to the house of her brother-in-law, the Mr. Crawford with whom she and her husband crossed the Atlantic two years before. Crawford was then in comfortable circumstances. He had some capital when he arrived, and, in addition, was a good, thrifty and successful farmer. This was young Jackson’s home during the next ten or twelve years. His life was indeed “a battle and a march,” and march and battle began with his very infancy.

North Carolinians have long and tenacious memories, and when, more than a quarter of a century ago, Mr. Parton made a pilgrimage into Mecklenberg County to collect materials for the life of the great democratic chieftain, he was able to gather many an anecdote of the early life of his hero. “He was a wild, frolicksome, wilful, mischievous, daring, reckless boy, who loved his friends and detested his enemies.” Truly, the boy was father of the man. He allowed no one to impose upon him. On one occasion, we are told, some boys gave him a gun loaded to the muzzle in order to see him knocked over when he fired it. He was kicked over, and springing to his feet exclaimed: “If one of you laughs I’ll kill him!” And there was no laughter. It is said that the larger boys had trouble in getting along with him; but that he was idolized by the smaller ones, who always found in him a protector and a champion. “He was,” said one who knew him in youth, “a bully, but never a coward.” In boyish games and sports of every description he was thoroughly proficient. It was easy to make a wrestling match when “Andy” Jackson was present; but, although tall and active, he was not strong in proportion to his height, and was frequently thrown. He was fond of running and jumping, feats in which he excelled. He was addicted to gibberish or slang, and one of his favorite expressions was this: “Set de case: You are Shauney Kerr’s mare and me Billy Buck; and I should mount you and you should kick, fall, fling and break your neck, should I be to blame for that?” Young John Quincy Adams, who was born in the same year as Jackson, and who was at this time studying diplomacy under his father in Europe, would probably have fled in as great horror from his successor in the Presidency, if he then propounded to him this problem, as in after years he fled from him on the day of his inauguration. The woods of Waxhaw were full of deer, wild turkey and other game, and owing to the household demands of the colony, to hunt and kill them was much more of a necessity than a pleasure. Jackson, it is needless to say, became expert with the rifle, and the bird or animal that came within range rarely escaped with its life.

His mother’s ambition was to make him a clergyman, and in due time he was sent to what in those days was called “an old field school.” By and by he attended schools of a better class, at which lads were prepared for college. Where the means to pay for this superior education came from is not known, but it is believed that his mother was assisted by members of her family in Ireland. Jackson was not a studious boy, so he learned little except reading, writing, and arithmetic. His educational equipment all through life was very light, but, nevertheless, his name stands on the roll of the learned Doctors of Harvard, an act for which the younger Adams never forgave his old university. When the colonies decided to draw the sword, Jackson was a child nine years old, and the war was half over before its tide rolled along to the banks of the Catawba. From the very beginning, however, the Scotch-Irish settlers of Waxhaw were as loyal and devoted to the patriotic cause as the descendants of the Puritans who fell at Lexington and Bunker Hill. Many of them and their children went into the army, among others Hugh Jackson, Andrew’s eldest brother, who was “a man in stature if not in years.” He was killed in the battle of Stono. Robert Jackson, the second son, too young to bear arms, and Andrew were with their mother when Tarleton’s dragoons swept along to Waxhaw. A body of militia was taken by surprise and a large number killed and wounded. This was Jackson’s first lesson in war. He was then about thirteen, and he and his brother aided their mother in nursing the unfortunate victims of the raid. Tarleton’s troopers rode hard and fast over the Waxhaw farms, little dreaming that in one of its log-cabins they had left behind them a rough, ungainly boy who in after years was destined to defeat one of England’s ablest generals at the head of veteran soldiers bearing on their conquering banners the memorable names of Talavera and Badajos. Next came Lord Rawdon threatening to imprison all who refused to promise not to participate in the war. Mrs. Jackson fled with her two boys into the wilderness rather than make the pledge. A short time after both sons were present in the engagement at Hanging Rock, near Waxhaw, where the patriots were so nearly victorious. The defeat of Gates brought the victorious Cornwallis to the little settlement, and the terrified inhabitants, Mrs. Jackson and her children among them, again fled before the soldiery. Andrew found a refuge in a temporary home on a farm where he gave his services in exchange for his board. His principal duties were fetching wood, driving cattle, picking beans, going to the mill and the blacksmith’s shop. “He never,” says Mr. Parton, “went to the blacksmith’s without bringing home something with which to kill the enemy. Once he fastened the blade of a scythe to a pole, and on reaching home began to cut down the weeds, exclaiming, ‘Oh! if I were a man I would sweep down the British with my grass blade.’” The Jacksons were all home again in 1781, when the Waxhaw country became quiet.

Andrew was now fourteen, tall as a man, but without much bodily strength. He and his brother thought, however, that they could be of some service to their country, and from time to time joined small raiding parties, organized to retaliate on the enemy. Cornwallis sent a body of troops to suppress these disorders, and in a conflict the Jackson boys were captured. Then occurred that memorable incident in his life which so embittered him ever afterward against England. The officer who had captured him, ordered him to clean his boots. Jackson indignantly refused, declaring that he was a prisoner of war and expected to be treated as one. A fierce sword-blow aimed at his head was the answer. He warded it off with his arm, but the weapon struck his skull, inflicting a wound on arm and head, the marks of which remained to the day of his death. The brutal officer then gave the same order to the brother. He, too, refused to obey and was prostrated with a blow which nearly killed him. One day, while a prisoner, Andrew was threatened with death unless he guided the troops to the house of an obnoxious patriot. He pretended to comply, but went by a route which gave the intended victim notice of their approach and enabled him to escape. The two brothers were next marched off prisoners of war to Camden, forty miles distant. They and their companions were treated with horrible barbarity on the way. Forced to walk the entire distance without food, they were not even allowed to drink the muddy water by the wayside. In Camden jail they were nearly starved to death. Small-pox broke out among the ill-fed and ill-clothed captives and it became a very pest-hole. At length General Greene appeared before the place and there were hopes of a rescue. Jackson cut through a knot-hole in the fence and saw the operations in the field, which he reported to his fellow-prisoners. The Continental troops were defeated and the captives were in despair. But the faithful mother had not forgotten or abandoned them, and one day she appeared offering to exchange for her boys and some other prisoners, thirteen soldiers who had been captured by the men of Waxhaw. Her sons were so worn-out by starvation and disease that she scarcely knew them. What a journey that was home to the Waxhaw! They could procure only two horses for the entire party. The mother rode one; on the other was her son Robert, stricken with small-pox and held in his seat by the exchanged prisoners. By their side trudged Andrew, shivering with fever and ague, shoeless, almost naked, his feet and legs bleeding and torn by rocks and briers. Still the battle and the march!

But the battle was only beginning for this seemingly ill-starred boy. When peace came, sending sunshine and joy through all the land, this heroic North of Ireland mother had been sleeping beside her husband in the Waxhaw graveyard more than a year, and the orphaned Andrew was striving hard to learn the trade of a saddler. His health was bad, and his spirit seemed broken. Perhaps it was grief for the mother whom he so deeply loved, and whose memory he revered all through life. Gradually, however, the spring and buoyancy of his nature asserted themselves. He made the acquaintance of some boys of his own age whose parents had fled from Charleston, when it was captured, to Waxhaw, and who were waiting for the evacuation to return. He was the owner of a horse at this time, but it is not clear whether he obtained him by gift or purchase. At all events, he ran races; very often rode them, and, impartial history bids us say, “gambled a little, drank a little, and fought cocks.” It was a rude age; the little society that existed was demoralized by war, and there was no one to restrain, perhaps no one even to advise, this young orphan boy. He followed his friends to Charleston, “riding his horse, a fine and valuable animal which he had contrived to possess.” His career in that city was wild and reckless. He ran up a long bill with his landlord, which he paid by a lucky throw at dice; the wager being his horse against two hundred dollars. All at once his conscience seems to have smitten him. He resolved to return home and reform. Never again through all his life did he throw dice for a wager. His scheme of reformation did not, however, include the abandonment of horse-racing and chicken-fighting, for during the next two years his biographers continue to record many achievements and adventures in this line. His other pursuits, if he had any, are not known. Some say he taught school. If he did, teachers must have been few and far between at that time in North Carolina. When he was seventeen or eighteen years of age, he went to Salisbury to study law. Unable to find an opening, he went to Morgantown, in Burke County, where he was equally unsuccessful. At length he succeeded in persuading Mr. Spruce McCoy, of Salisbury, a lawyer of eminence, and subsequently a distinguished judge, to undertake his instruction. The story of his career in Salisbury is a sad one, if certain traditions be true. He was, according to some of his biographers, “the most roaring, rollicking, game-cocking, horse-racing, card-playing mischievous fellow that ever lived in Salisbury.” The portrait is probably from the easel of a political enemy, or a well-meaning admirer, who deemed these the highest qualifications a young man could possess. In the first place, a life of this description involved the expenditure of considerable money even in a small North Carolina town a century ago, and Jackson had none. To suppose that he lived by gambling and horse-racing is absurd. It is certain, however, that on one occasion he ran a foot-race there under somewhat ludicrous conditions. The champion runner of the town was one Hugh Montgomery. A match was made between him and Jackson on these terms: Montgomery to carry a man on his back and get a start of half the distance. Jackson won by one or two feet, “amid the laughter of the town.”

He received his license to practice law before he reached his twentieth year. This he could not have accomplished if his life had been the wild and reckless one which some writers would have us believe. He left Salisbury immediately and went to live at Martinsville in Guilford County. Two of his friends kept a store there, and he probably assisted them, although, it is said, he earned a livelihood by serving as a constable. The following year a friend of his was appointed judge of the Superior Court in Tennessee. He appointed Jackson public prosecutor. The position was not one for which there were many applicants. In the first place, it led into the wilderness where the red man was yet very successfully disputing the advance of the pale-faces, and, in the next, the whites whom Jackson was coming to prosecute were not much higher in the scale of civilization than the native savages. Jackson induced some friends to accompany him in quest of fortune and fame, and a start was made for Jonesboro’, then the principal settlement in Eastern Tennessee. Thence they proceeded to Nashville, where they arrived in October, 1788. The journey was full of peril, and were it not for the watchfulness of Jackson one night the whole party would probably have been massacred. Having a presentiment of danger, he determined to sit up on guard. Toward midnight the hooting of an owl fell on his ear. This was followed by another and another, until in a short time all the owls in Tennessee appeared to have collected overhead of them. Jackson suspected that these owls carried scalping-knives and tomahawks, and awoke his companions. They were troubled no more by owls that night. At Nashville he found as much law business as he could attend to, and he set to work with his usual energy and vigor. In his capacity of public prosecutor he was obliged to attend court at Jonesboro’, which compelled him to make frequent journeys through the Indian-infested wilderness. This was hard and perilous work. No one dared attempt the trip alone, and travelers were in the habit of making up parties in order to be the better prepared for attack. Jackson one time was delayed, and his friends started without him. He followed and soon came upon their track, and, at the same time, the unmistakable trail of Indians immediately behind them. This was a situation which would have caused ninety-nine in a hundred men to turn back, but not so Jackson. Although his servant declined to go with him he determined to push ahead, and divided his provisions with his attendant, who turned homeward. Jackson came to a point where the Indians had branched off with the intention of surprising and attacking the whites with a certainty of success. At length he overtook his friends and warned them of their danger. It was snowing heavily at the time, and the entire party were turned away from the camp of some hunters from whom they had asked shelter. When returning home they again stopped at the camp, but every one of the hunters had been scalped.

Jackson now began to accumulate property, and he married Mrs. Robards, establishing his home, the first he really ever had, in Nashville. This was almost the first halt thus far in “the march and the battle” of his life. It was not, however, the famous home called the Hermitage, for that did not come until many years later. If money was scarce in Tennessee at that time, there was an abundance of land, and six hundred and forty acres, or a square mile of real estate, was the ordinary fee for trying a case at court. Jackson was in fact a land speculator, as well as a lawyer, and he was a purchaser whenever he could command the money. So large were his possessions that he sold six thousand dollars worth of land in one block to a gentleman in Philadelphia, and after that large transaction for that time, had still several thousand acres left. Some years later he engaged in business on his place at Hunters Hill, thirteen miles from Nashville. This plantation embraced several thousand acres, and he erected on it a house which was one of the finest in that part of the country. In a smaller building near it he opened a store and sold goods to the Indians through a small window. His prosperity, however, received a sudden check. The Philadelphia gentleman, whose notes he had taken for his land, failed, and the protection of the notes devolved on Jackson, who had discounted them. This he did at an enormous sacrifice.

He determined to retrieve his fortune, and to that end enlarged his operations in every direction. His slaves numbered one hundred and fifty, and in their management he was greatly assisted by Mrs. Jackson. He raised corn and cotton, which he shipped on his own boats. At his large store he took produce of all kinds in exchange for goods. He had on his plantation a cotton-gin, which was so recently invented that it had scarcely ceased to be a curiosity. With it he cleaned his own cotton and that of his neighbors, which was another source of income. He was an excellent farmer and very proud of his crops, which were nearly always good. But this was not all. In his youth he had been exceedingly fond of horses, and his equine tastes grew stronger as he advanced in years. He brought the famous “Truxton” from Virginia to Tennessee and won fame and money as a turfman. Few races came off in the country around in which his name was not among the entries, and, as he ran his animals with care and judgment, he was a frequent winner. His stable was in fact the best bred in all that section, and proved a large source of income to him. Down even to the present day there is a “Truxton” strain in Tennessee which is highly prized. In addition he amused himself with an occasional cockfight. On at least one occasion the ownership of six hundred and forty acres of land depended upon the issue of the battle between the game birds. During these years, while he was pursuing the avocation of a planter, of a dealer in the goods of every description needed in a new country, of a horse-breeder and of a speculator in land, he also found time to hold various public positions. He was a delegate to the convention that framed the constitution of the State; a member of the legislature; then a congressman and a judge. His service in Congress was very brief, and he resigned his position on the bench in order to recover the fortune he had lost. Jackson was a good public officer. He was not a great lawyer or jurist, but he fearlessly prosecuted every lawbreaker, and his decisions were always honest. Every scoundrel in the territory was his enemy, but he never quailed before one of them.

While he was on the bench the sheriff one day told him that a ruffian, who had been guilty of cutting off his child’s ear in a drunken passion, was in the court-house yard, armed with dirk and pistols, and defied arrest. Jackson directed him to summon a posse of citizens. The sheriff reported back that the citizens were too terrified to act. “He must be taken,” said Jackson; “summon me!” With a pistol in either hand, Jackson walked into the yard and strode up to the outlaw, who at once surrendered to him.

Jackson possessed undaunted courage and nerve. A mob assembled one time with the intention of tarring and feathering him. He was ill in bed when a committee waited on him to communicate the cheerful intelligence. “Give my compliments,” said he, “to Colonel ---- [the leader of the party], and tell him my door is open to receive him and his regiment whenever they choose to call upon me, and that I hope he will have the chivalry to lead his men and not to follow them.” His brave defiance cowed the mob. It dispersed, and its leader apologized to Jackson.

Long years after, while Jackson was President, he told a story of one of his experiences during these frontier days, which we shall insert here.

“Now, Mr. B----,” said Jackson, “if any one attacks you I know you will fight with that big black stick of yours. You will aim right for his head. Well, sir, ten chances to one he will ward it off, and if you do hit him, you won’t bring him down. Now, sir [taking the stick into his own hands], you hold the stick so and punch him in the stomach, and you’ll drop him. I will tell you how I found that out. When I was a young man, practising law in Tennessee, there was a big bullying fellow that wanted to pick a quarrel with me, and so trod on my toes. Supposing it accidental, I said nothing. Soon after he did it again, and I began to suspect his object. In a few moments he came by a third time, pushing against me violently and evidently meaning fight. He was a man of immense size, one of the very biggest men I ever saw. As quick as a flash I snatched a small rail from the top of the fence and gave him the point of it full in the stomach. Sir, it doubled him up. He fell at my feet, and I stamped on him. Soon he got up, savage, and was about to fly at me like a tiger. The bystanders made as though they would interfere. Said I, ‘Don’t; stand back; give me room; that is all I ask, and I will manage him.’ With that I stood ready with the rail pointed. He gave me one look and turned away a bewitted man, sir, and feeling like one. So, sir, I say to you, if any fellow assaults you, give him the point in his belly.”

Jackson fought several duels, killing his antagonist in one of them; but these episodes in his life do not fall within the limits of this paper. His military career may be said to begin with his appointment, in 1802, to the command of the militia of Tennessee, although he was not called into active service until the following year. Jefferson had then completed the Louisiana purchase, and it was thought the Spaniards would not be willing to acknowledge the authority of the United States, and, possibly, might resist it. Troops were ordered to the frontier, and if necessary were to be marched to New Orleans. Tennessee promptly responded, and Major General Jackson discharged so well the duty assigned him that he was thanked by the Federal Government.

The ambitious, restless, brilliant Burr was at this time revolving in his fertile brain the erection of an empire in Mexico, and looking around for lieutenants to aid him in the realization of his dream, his eye fell upon Jackson, whom he had doubtless met in Philadelphia while he was Vice-President. In the summer of 1805 Jackson rode from his plantation into Nashville. The little town was gayly decked with flags and banners, and the streets were thronged with people from the surrounding country. Aaron Burr was expected, and the demonstration was in his honor. After an entertainment by the people of Nashville he rode home with Jackson as his guest. Burr’s project appealed to the imagination of Jackson and he offered his services. Next day Burr went away. A year later he was again in Kentucky and Tennessee, and Jackson again offered to join his expedition. The enterprise was then discussed everywhere, but no one had suspected, or at least given expression to, the suspicion that Burr’s plans were hostile to the interests of the United States. Rumors of this nature, however, were soon afloat, and Jackson laid the matter before Governor Claiborne. He at the same time wrote Burr, declaring that if his designs were inimical to the government, he desired to have no further relations with him. Burr was tried shortly afterwards for treason. He was always one of Jackson’s friends and entertained the highest opinion of his military capacity. When Congress declared war against England in 1812, Burr said that Jackson was the most capable general in the country. During the next five or six years Jackson was in private life.

The outbreak of hostilities with England called him again into the field. The Mississippi Valley was loyal to the core and promptly furnished a larger number of men than had been called for. Jackson, at the head of 2,500 volunteers, descended the Ohio and Mississippi to Natchez, where he received word from Wilkinson, at New Orleans, to await further orders. Wilkinson was jealous of Jackson and did not desire his co-operation if he could do without it. Jackson, angry at the delay, went into camp. Later on he was enraged when, instead of receiving an order to advance, he was instructed to disband his forces 500 miles from Nashville. It was a cruel order to give; cruel treatment of men who had so promptly rushed to the defense of their country. Jackson resolved to disobey it. He would not abandon his men so far from their homes. His quarter-master refused to furnish proper supplies. Jackson solved that problem by borrowing $5,000 on his own responsibility. The journey back was severe, and many of the men fell sick. Jackson placed one of the sufferers on his own horse and walked 400 miles on foot. His officers and mounted men who were strong enough followed his example and gave their horses to their companions who had succumbed to the hardships of the march. One soldier became so dangerously ill that it was proposed to abandon him. “Not a man shall be left as long as life is in him,” said Jackson. He watched over the sufferer as if he had been his own child, and saved his life.

In the summer of 1813 the terrible massacre of Fort Mimms occurred. The legislature of Tennessee authorized the raising of 3,500 men, and Jackson began operations against the Creeks in the following October. So great was his popularity that in a short time he had over five thousand men under his command. His name soon became a terror to the Indians, whom he mercilessly followed and fought whenever they dared to oppose him. But there was a tender heart in the breast of Jackson. After a fierce encounter at Tallahassee, an Indian woman was found killed on the field. An infant boy lay on her bosom vainly striving to satisfy his hunger. The child was brought within the lines and adopted by Jackson. Mrs. Jackson, who had no children of her own, became as attached to the little war-waif as her husband, and he grew to be a fine youth. When he died Jackson was deeply grieved, and the remains are buried at the Hermitage. The timely assistance rendered by Jackson to the besieged at Fort Talladega prevented a repetition of the Fort Mimms horror, for it was on the point of surrender when he appeared and put the savages to flight. His own supplies now fell short, and his men were threatened with famine. The volunteers in his command attempted to leave for their homes, but were prevented by the militia. The militia shortly after threatened revolt, and they were held in check by the volunteers. Both parties next united and resolved to abandon the field. Jackson rode to the head of the column and presenting his pistol declared he would kill the first man who advanced. So dire was the distress that he lived on acorns picked up in the woods. At the Great Horseshoe Bend of the Tallapoosa River, Jackson struck the Creek Indians a blow from which they never recovered. More than one thousand warriors took their final stand at that point in a strongly fortified camp. The battle was one of the fiercest in all our Indian annals. Six hundred braves were killed, for they had resolved to die rather than yield. Finally, the remnant of the band, their brethren nearly all slain, laid down their arms on the now historic Hickory Ground, at the fork of the Coosa and Tallapoosa rivers. Among those who surrendered was the famous Weatherford, the most valiant of all their leaders.

The Waxhaw lad, who thirty-three years before had been struck down by one of Tarleton’s officers for refusing to clean his boots, was now Major-General in the Regular Army of the United States and in full command of the division of the South. The war with England had been in progress two years with varying success on either side. Florida was a province of Spain, and its governor, while openly professing friendship for the United States, had allowed British vessels to land supplies in the harbor of Pensacola, where they were forwarded by officers on shore to the Indians in arms against us. He resolved to attack the place, and let Mr. Madison at Washington settle the difficulty which was certain to follow with Spain as best he could. An appeal for volunteers was promptly answered, and early in November Jackson was drawn up in front of the place with a demand for an immediate surrender. This was refused, and an attack was ordered next day. In a short time he was in possession of Pensacola, and the British ships were weighing anchor to escape the fire of his artillery. Fort Barancas blew up as he was making preparations to assault it. He had no further business in Pensacola, and resolved to leave, sending this note to the governor: “The enemy has retired; the hostile Creeks have fled to the forest, and I now retire from your town, leaving you to occupy your forts and protect the rights of your citizens.” Then came New Orleans, where the trained veterans of the Peninsula War were driven to their ships by the raw levies of the Mississippi Valley. The story is known to every school-boy. It did not end the war with England--for the treaty of peace had been signed at Ghent before the battle was fought--but it more than compensated for all our reverses during the long struggle, and added an imperishable laurel to our military fame. Praise of Jackson fell from every tongue, and the fighting back-woodsman of Tennessee became the idol of the country. While the whole Republic was resounding with laudation of his deeds and thanking him in set addresses and formal resolutions from Congress down to the smallest town council, his wife was awaiting him in a small log-hut in the forest. Before the war the bankruptcy of a relative for whom he was security had forced Jackson to sell everything in order to meet his liabilities. To this humble home he returned from the city he had saved. His next military service was in the Seminole War. Spain still held the Floridas, and her officers were again secretly assisting the savages against the United States. Without instructions, he entered the Spanish possessions, seized St. Marks, and sent its officials to Pensacola. The trial and execution of Arbuthnot and Ambrister followed, after which he captured Pensacola and Fort Barancas. Negotiations for the cession of Florida were pending at the time, and Jackson’s action became the subject of official investigation. He was sustained by public opinion and Congress. In a trip through the Middle and Eastern States he was everywhere received with the greatest enthusiasm. When Florida was annexed, Jackson became the first governor of the new Territory. His civil career was as vigorous and energetic as his military one had been, but he resigned at the end of a few months, and returned home to the Hermitage, which had in the meantime been built. He was next elected to the United States Senate, and declined the mission to Mexico offered him by Mr. Monroe. His defeat for the Presidency in 1824 was a severe blow, and the next four years were spent at his home near Nashville. In 1828 he swept the country, but his joy was turned to sorrow by the death of his wife a short time after his election.

Jackson was the first President inaugurated with what may be called military honors. He was surrounded by a body-guard of Revolutionary veterans, militia and military companies from all quarters of the Union. Martial music filled the air; the city was gayly decorated with flags and banners, and when the ceremonies were over artillery thundered out all over the capital. “I never saw such a crowd,” Daniel Webster wrote. “Persons have come 500 miles to see General Jackson, and they really seem to think that the country is rescued from some dreadful danger.” Jackson rode a magnificent charger to the Capitol, cheered by thousands of admirers who lined the sidewalks and filled every window and point of vantage. The reception at the White House which followed presented some extraordinary scenes. Indian fighters from distant Tennessee, hunters from Kentucky, trappers from the Northwest, and a mob of office-seekers from all sections of the Union, mingling with the refined society of the capital and visitors from other cities, surged through the great East Room. They clamored for refreshments, and in a short time emptied the barrels of punch that had been provided for their entertainment. Large quantities of glass and china were broken in the scramble, and the rush to see “Old Hickory” and shake his hand was so great that his friends found it necessary to surround and save him from injury.

His favorite exercise was driving and horseback riding. He retired about ten o’clock and rose early. He frequently took a short canter before beginning the labors of the day, but his usual hour for relaxation was in the afternoon. He was always accompanied by a servant. Mr. Van Buren sometimes rode with him, but more generally his nephew and Secretary, Mr. Donelson, who, with his family, lived at the White House. The summers he spent at Old Point Comfort in Virginia. There were occasional pilgrimages to the Hermitage, and trips North and East which were ovations at every point where he stopped. He narrowly escaped assassination, in 1834, while he was descending the steps of the Capitol in a funeral procession. A crazy painter out of employment fired twice at him without exploding the powder. On another occasion he was assaulted while in the cabin of a small steamer, at the wharf in Alexandria, by a Lieutenant Randolph who had been dismissed from the Navy. He was seventy years old lacking eleven days when his second administration closed. Like Jefferson, Madison and Monroe, he placed the reins of government in the hands of his Secretary of State, and immediately retired to the Hermitage, now as famous and as sacred to his followers as Mount Vernon, Monticello or Montpelier. There, in June, 1845, he died, surrounded by his grandchildren and favorite slaves; his last words being an expression of the hope that he would meet them all, black and white, in heaven. The march and the battle were at last ended.

[Illustration: A FALSE START.]

THE JERSEY CITY ATHLETIC CLUB.

BY CHARLES LEE MEYERS.

Ten years have elapsed since the idea of an athletic club for Jersey City had its origin in the brains of two gentlemen. These were J. McF. Tappen and D. R. Van Winkle, and to their number they added a third counselor, W. J. Tait. From the action of this triumvirate sprang the present flourishing organization known as the Jersey City Athletic Club.

Support was quickly afforded. Soon some forty gentlemen were at work on the scheme, and quickly organized themselves into a regular body. The following officers were elected: W. J. Tait, president; J. McF. Tappen, vice-president; E. N. Wilson, treasurer, and E. F. Emmons, secretary. Matters immediately assumed such a flourishing condition, that the membership reached a century before the second meeting.

The idea uppermost in the minds of the originators, from the first inception, was that the club should unite the social element with physical culture, and so afford the exercises the air more of a pleasurable pastime than simply hard work for muscle’s sake. Acting on wise counsel, the executive officers of the new organization made but a modest venture, and finding that the higher they went the lower the rent, they secured a large garret over a row of brick buildings, at 723 Grand Street. Their first home was, however, admirably adapted for their purpose, for the rafters were very high, and afforded ample space and accommodation for the disposal of climbing-poles, trapezes, and other gymnastic paraphernalia. The work of fitting, ventilating, painting, etc., was undertaken with a will; a new floor was laid, an instructor--Mr. Louis Kline--engaged, club colors adopted (red and blue, with an emblem of a red Greek cross on a blue ground), and the club was in full swing.

Directly the premises were completed, they were put to practical use, and to the good effect of this vigorous action may be attributed the fact that the club gave its first outdoor games in the spring of 1879. These games consisted of five club events and four open events, and were held at the West Side Driving Park. All the noted athletes of the day competed, and a great success was scored. From this time the club may be regarded as having established itself on a firm footing financially and otherwise. Shortly afterwards it joined and became a prominent member of the N. A. A. A. A., but has now, however, thrown in its fortune with that of the Amateur Athletic Union.

Meanwhile, in its private life, the club was thriving. The membership increased, and more accommodation was needed. Room after room was added on the floor beneath the gymnasium, among them being a billiard-room, card-room, music-room, with piano and other instruments, and an office for committee meetings. The original policy of an admixture of social attractions was thoroughly carried out, and receptions, skating

## parties, and a varied round of amusements followed each other in quick

succession, all serving to maintain the interest.

So matters moved smoothly and pleasantly until the roller-skating craze infected the city, and as the seductive influences of the slippery floor, and the novelty of the fashion made themselves felt, gradually the attendance at the club fell off, and it seemed as if a period of darkness were in store for it. And indeed to the determined spirits who, by their devotion, tided matters over, a deep and lasting debt is owed. This danger, although at the time it looked really great, soon disappeared. One by one the rinks closed, members of the club returned to their proper allegiance, and affairs resumed their former prosperity.

[Illustration: JERSEY CITY ATHLETIC CLUB HOUSE.]

In the latter part of 1885 an epidemic struck Jersey City--it was a “club fever.” All the men in the city were either organizing or joining clubs. Clubs were formed for almost every purpose, social, intellectual, literary, athletic, bowling, etc. The social element so strongly developed by the ten or a dozen rinks, had to find an outlet, and the movement flowed clubward. Among the first to recognize and direct this curious fever was the Jersey City Athletic Club, and as a consequence its membership filled up so rapidly that in November, 1885, its rooms were entirely inadequate for the uses of its members, and it was decided to build a club-house.

The scheme for the enlargement of the premises had a very modest beginning, for in the spring of 1885 a demand for further accommodation in the matter of bowling alleys had been put forward. To meet this the proposition was made that two alleys should be built on some land adjoining the Alpha Rink. This by no means met with general approbation, and it became evident that the membership was falling off, and that the club was being deserted for its more enterprising rivals, notable among which was the Palma Club, which had just completed a new building. When, therefore, the “club fever” broke out, a club meeting was held, and a proposition made that a committee be appointed whose duty it should be to raise the large sum of $25,000 for building purposes. Though the scheme was much derided, the committee was formed, and comprised the following gentlemen: Messrs. J. C. Appleby, C. H. Dickson, H. Hartshorne, and E. R. Grant. When this prompt and timely

## action became known, it enlisted so many desirable recruits that in six

months from the inception of the building scheme the membership had trebled, in spite of the fact that in the city four other large and well-appointed clubs offered their attractions.

[Illustration: WALKING TO WIN.]

The plans were finally passed, and ground purchased for a sum of $5,000, while the building to be erected was to cost $20,000. On the first night the amount subscribed was $6,000, and thus assured of the success of the venture the various committees perfected their work, and on Thanksgiving Day, 1886, the building was finished. Then the question arose how the completed building was to be furnished. The solution of the problem proved easier than might have been expected. The ladies came graciously to the rescue. A fair was organized to raise the necessary funds, and the good work which had been done during the months of preparation was apparent when, after the close of the fair, which was open for ten days, the sum of $8,000 in cash remained as a monument to its success.

The new club-house stands at the corner of Crescent and Clinton Avenues--almost the highest portion of “The Heights”--upon the brow of the hill. The site is superb, commanding from the eastern windows and tower a magnificent view of New York harbor and the surrounding country. The style of architecture is modern Queen Anne. The basement and first and second stories are of undressed brown-stone, and the upper stories wood, with a slate roof. The tower forms a notable feature; a roomy piazza on one side of the house and a large porch are popular parts of the house in summer. The entrance is very spacious, and opens into a large vestibule, and this again leads to a wide hall running through to the billiard-room.

In the basement are the bowling-alleys, six in number, fitted with all the latest improvements, and built by the best makers in the costliest style. In fact, so well is their construction carried out, that the claim that they are among the best of their kind in America is fully justified. The active use to which they are put every night vouches for the interest displayed in the pastime by the members. On the left of the bowling-alleys is the wheelroom, which affords storage for a large number of wheels, and gives easy egress to the street through the side-doors.

[Illustration: PUTTING THE SHOT.]

On the first floor, the offices and the card-room are on one side of the hall, and on the other the parlor and the library. The last now contains some three hundred volumes of standard books, and additions are constantly being made; in addition, a large supply of monthly and weekly periodicals is taken. A large open grate is a feature of this room; the furnishings are throughout easy and luxurious, while its situation, being in the base of the tower, allows the light to enter from three sides, rendering it most comfortable and suitable for its purpose. The entire wing is occupied by the billiard-room, which contains four billiard and two pool tables. The room is lighted directly from three sides and indirectly from the fourth, and therefore has the best facilities for lovers of the game to display their skill with the cue. Off this room are coat-rooms, etc., and a complete barber’s shop.

[Illustration: THE RUNNING BROAD JUMP--LANDING.]

On the next floor is the gymnasium, which is one of the finest in the country. From the floor, which measures eighty by fifty feet, there is a space of forty feet to the peak of the roof. Every kind of apparatus that has been invented for exercise and to further muscular development is represented, while the lofty rafters make the swinging rings, climbing ropes and poles a notable feature. Off the gymnasium and in the wing are the spacious locker-rooms and baths. Around three sides runs a spacious gallery, and on the mezzanine floor is situated the large music-room, at the back of the gallery, and looking out on the gymnasium. On the fourth side is the stage--while the gymnasium itself makes a splendid auditorium. It is used on the occasion of club performances, and having a seating capacity of 800, with the large gallery and music-room as a foyer, it makes an ideal amateur theatre; and again, when the annual receptions are held, it makes a capital ball-room--all the apparatus being removable. The stage itself is replete with every convenience--handsome drop-curtain, scenery, etc.--and there is a fine wardrobe of costumes. The method of construction permits the wings to be run out when occasion demands, and while not in use the stage is lifted back against the wall, and the proscenium shuts up flat against the stage, much like the closing of an accordion, so giving the entire floor except a few feet for other purposes.

[Illustration: HIGH JUMP NO. 1--THE RISE.]

The value of the club’s property amounts to about $45,000, and its income reaches $18,000, a sum large enough to allow considerable addition each year to its possessions, besides paying current expenses. The membership, which has a limit of 650, reaches 625. The original object of the club has been fully attained, for it has added greatly to the social life of the city. An element of its success has been the absence of internal dissension; all work together for the common good, sinking personal differences, and never allowing them to hamper any public project. The rules are strict: no liquor can be brought into, sold, or drunk in the house; no gambling or games of chance are allowed by the State laws, and are also prohibited by the club rules under penalty of expulsion.

The bowling team is the club’s joy and pride. At the close of the season of 1886-7, however, the team was last on the list, having won only four out of twelve games. This was to be expected, as the alleys had been in use only a few months; but in the season of 1887-8 the team won ten out of a possible fourteen games, and gained thereby the championship of the Amateur Bowling League. This league is composed of the Jersey A. C., New York A. C., Orange A. C., Brooklyn A. A., Roseville A. C., Elizabeth A. C., and Palma Club. Of these the Elizabeth Club had never been beaten on their own alleys until the Jersey City Club lowered their colors, rolling the highest score in the tournament upon their alleys in contest with them. The tournament commenced in November, 1887, and the twelve scheduled games were finished with a tie for first place between the Jersey City, New York, and Palma Club. The Jersey team won the deciding games in good style, defeating successively the Palmas and the New Yorks, and winning ten out of fourteen games.

[Illustration: HIGH JUMP NO. 2--OVER.]

After the tie was made, the three clubs drew as to who should play first, the J. C. A. C. drawing the bye. The New Yorks played the Palma Club, the latter winning. This left the J. C. A. C. to play the Palma Club upon the alleys of the N. Y. A. C., and it was a game worth recording. At the end of the third frame the Palma score was 102 pins ahead, and it looked as if the game was won. Neither score changed much until the end of the sixth frame, when the score of the J. C. A. C. began to show a little improvement. By this time the excitement was growing, and the spectators began to be interested. All eyes were strained upon the pins at the end of the alleys as one of the crack bowlers carefully poised the huge ball in mid-air, taking careful aim, when suddenly, with an eerie screech, a wild-eyed, consumptive cat, with arched back and bristling fur, darted like a streak of darkness diagonally across the alley. All the boys shouted, and were convulsed with laughter at the strange apparition, coming from nowhere and disappearing as mysteriously as it had come. The claims of the rival clubs were loud as to the significance of the visitant, the Palmas claiming it as their mascotte, the J. C. A. C. boys claiming it as a “hoodoo” for the Palma score, and so it proved. By this time the excitement had spread all through the house, and the men swarmed down into the alleys.

Slowly the score began to change its aspect, until, by the final frame, when the Palmas had finished their play, they were eleven pins ahead of the J. C. A. C., who had one more man to roll. When on the first ball he made a “strike,” counting ten, he was seized by the enthusiastic team and carried around upon their shoulders. Each of his following shots proved to be a “strike,” and brought up the score of the J. C. A. C. to a total of 43 pins above that of their opponents. A large model of the cat, done in cotton, five times the size of the original, with heroic verses telling of its famous run, and its “hoodoo” influence, is one of the proud possessions of the club, and adorns its rooms.

Among other trophies are the prizes for a match contest between the Orange A. C. and the J. C. A. C. The team is composed of Messrs. A. M. Ryerson, captain, F. Cavalli, J. H. Curran, O. D. Stewart, A. H. Brown, E. R. Grant, G. E. Hogg, J. A. Davis, E. Klein and H. W. McLellan. Bowling tournaments between the members of the club for prizes help to promote good play and develop champions.

The baseball team has won a number of local victories, and interests a large number of members. Having, however, no regular grounds to practice on, the team contents itself with playing against local club nines.

The club is extremely strong in wheelmen, having among its members 75 per cent. of the Hudson County Wheelmen, who form the largest and strongest cycling organization in New Jersey, and one which is hand in hand with the J. C. A. C. It was proposed at one time to amalgamate, but the H. C. W., not wishing to lose their identity, compromised by nearly all becoming members of the J. C. A. C. Among their wheelmen, Charles E. Kluge possesses a world-wide fame. His records on the “Star” and tricycle, and latterly upon the crank machine, are well known, while his world record for twenty-five miles stands unrivaled. Others who have carried the club’s name to the front upon the racing-track are E. P. Baggot, E. M. Smith, W. P. Smith, and C. A. Stenken. On the whole, however, the members are more devoted to rolling up mileage on the road than rolling down Father Time on the track.

The achievements of the athletes of the J. C. A. C. belong rather to its past history than to its present. For the first years of its existence the club gave spring and fall games and their success was unquestioned. The novelty, however, wore off and the great difficulty in reaching the trotting track, which was the only available ground, prohibited an attendance sufficient to make them a financial success. So, after money had been lost steadily for the sake of the sport for some years, the games were abandoned, although the club athletes continued to score successes in the field and on the track. Among these were Hugh McMahon, whose best on record at the hurdles stood for a number of years, A. D. Stone, G. Y. Gilbert, and Charles Lee Meyers. A feature of the club athletics consists of runs from the house across country and return, and a series of races in its gymnasium, such as obstacle and potato races.

In the spring of 1885 it gave an entertainment which brought together all the noted athletes of the day as performers, among them being L. E. Myers, F. P. Murray, Robt. Stall on the rings, G. Y. Gilbert, and many others of the same class.

In 1887 the Boxing and Wrestling Championships of America were given under the auspices of the club and in its gymnasium.

The original idea, which has been mentioned before as existing in the minds of the originators of the club, has been well carried out. In order to obliterate from the minds of the ladies the inherent prejudice against all men’s clubs, the rooms were at first thrown open to them every Thursday evening, a dance was given every month, and a ladies’ class formed in the gymnasium. The result of this diplomacy was made apparent when the furnishing of the new club-house had to be accomplished. After their noble efforts in this cause, the question arose how to recompense them for their devotion, and how to place them in possession of all the club privileges without cost (for the club’s gratitude could do no less), and yet not make them members.

This difficult problem was solved by giving up to the ladies the afternoons of Tuesday and Thursday of each week and also Thursday evening, and having an informal dance once each month. At these times all privileges are free to ladies, and numerous groups enjoy themselves bowling, playing billiards, pool, cards, and often getting up an impromptu dance in the gymnasium. This feature is naturally one of the most attractive to the members, and among the ladies themselves the club is a very popular place. It has not so far interfered in the smallest degree with the exercise of the members’ privileges, as they can use all the club’s advantages on these occasions, courtesy of course giving preference to the fair sex, and indeed it has been of unexpected benefit to the club. Ladies, by telling their friends of the beauty of the club-house and the enjoyment to be obtained on its ladies’ days, have induced their male friends to join the club. A grand ball is given annually to the ladies, the first one in the new club-house being in honor of the ladies’ services during the fair. In January, 1888, Governor Green and all his staff of State officials honored the Club Ball by their presence.

Another prominent characteristic of the club is musical ability. Almost the first action of the club after its organization was to give an entertainment which took the form of a minstrel show, with only the members as performers. These shows grew better year by year, until in the fall of 1885 the club produced “The Mikado,” which had a run of two nights and splendid success. These plays were given in a local theatre and were “in black,” with most of the dialogue localized. In the fall of 1887, having its own theatre, the club took a step forward and produced “Erminie,” in black, with a remarkably successful run of four nights. Shortly after this the club orchestra was organized, and is now one of the notable features of every entertainment. In April of last year, “Patience” was produced for three nights, but this time with the assistance of the wives, sisters and sweethearts of the members, and exactly as written, with every detail. Such a splendid success was scored that its repetition was almost a necessity, so it was again given the month following, making four performances. The entire performance was marked throughout by the most careful attention to artistic effect, and in this it was quite a triumph.

In such ways the club has retained the sympathy and co-operation of the ladies. For instance, when “Patience” was produced, they contributed a major part of the attraction by splendid singing and acting.

The club is in the height of its prosperity. While the substantial reasons for its existence continue, there seems no doubt of its standing and permanency.

MY BOAT.

The frolic waves are dancing bright Across the moon’s broad path of light: My lovely boat-- A swan afloat, Holds o’er the waves her long white throat: From either side The waters glide In silver flashes of laughing foam, And she skims the sea In an ecstasy Of joy, returned again to home.

_Arthur Cleveland Hall._

ON A CANADIAN FARM IN MIDWINTER.

BY W. BLACKBURN HARTE.

By decree of the inexorable _res angusta domi_, I left my native England in the last days of the year of grace 1886, for Canada, with the determination of becoming a farmer. I was a cockney to my backbone, and had not the slightest idea of farming, but still I was young and hopeful, and I imagined that this happy consummation would take but a very short time to accomplish. Many a night, while lying in my bunk during the passage across the Atlantic, I built _châteaux en Espagne_ innumerable, and galloped over limitless acres of which I held the freehold. Alas! my castles have since been irretrievably mortgaged to Doubt and Despair, and if the reader will give me his kind attention while I relate my experiences, we will together watch these castles of cards topple to the ground.

Upon my arrival at Montreal I at once advertised for a situation on a farm, for I had more ambition than capital or collateral security, and consequently was unable to immediately blossom forth into a landed proprietor. To my great delight I received three or four answers from farmers in different parts of the country, each of whom represented that _his_ farm was situated in the very heart of the garden of Canada, and desired me to come on without delay. Subsequent experience led me to the conclusion that Canada was one immense garden--of snow, and remarkably well ventilated. After a little thought, I decided to place myself and accompanying transcendent abilities at the disposal of a gentleman--evidently a public philanthropist--who, judging from the friendly warmth of his communication, appeared to have been anxiously looking forward to my arrival on this continent.

The next day I boarded a train going east, and after a two hours’ journey arrived at my destination, which was only fifty miles from the metropolis. I had reason later to thank my stars that I had not decided to begin my career as a farm-hand in the neighborhood of the “Rockies,” because in that case my return to civilization would have been well-nigh impossible, considering the state of my exchequer. The name of the village was Knowlton, in the province of Quebec. Some of my readers are doubtless acquainted with the locality.

A negro conductor passed through the car and announced in stentorian tones, first in French-Canadian _patois_, and then in English, the name of the station, and looking out of the window I saw a noble edifice which appeared to have been blown together, “promiscuous-like,” on a very windy day, and then tarred over. This was the waiting-room and station-master’s sanctum combined; in fact, it was the station. There was not the ghost of a platform, but a low fence surrounded the rear of the shanty. The station-master, as I afterwards found out, was a man of exceedingly portly dimensions, and was greatly impressed with a sense of his own importance, so there was little room in the shanty for aught else beside himself and the stove.

The whole population of the place, about twenty-five or thirty persons all told, counting one or two of the canine genus, were assembled in the yard to witness the train come in. This appeared to be the only dissipation of which the villagers were at any time capable. They looked like so many badly packed bundles of cloth, and spoke a villainous gibberish, which would confound the natives of La Belle France. I fancy I was looked upon as a sort of natural curiosity. Certainly I was the “observed of all observers” upon that occasion, and caused no little diversion. I stood and watched the departing train until it was out of sight, and then sat down upon my chest. To confess the truth, I did not feel in the best of spirits. The prospect seemed less inviting now that I was, as it were, plumped down, out of all civilization, upon the scene of my new labors.

My benefactor, the farmer, now approached me, and introduced himself by suddenly bawling in my ear, “Now then, young feller, get up, and take hold of t’ other end of this box. Great Scott! what a terror, anyway. What ’ev you got in it, anyhow?”

Mr. Wiman, for that was the gentleman’s name, had never seen me before in his life, but he jumped to the conclusion that I was “his man,” because, as he afterwards explained to me, I looked “so English, you know.” I guessed, too, that a stranger in those parts was rather a _rara avis_.

We carried the box to his sledge, which he had kindly brought down to drive me up to the farm. Taking a seat beside him, I inquired what distance his place was from the village.

“Well, I guess it’s something over five miles--more or less,” was his reply.

We drove on for a long time in silence, and I began to think that there was a considerable difference between a five-mile drive in the “old country” and a similar distance in Canada. I ventured to hint as much to Mr. Wiman. He burst into a hearty laugh.

“Bless yer! I should jist reckon there _is_ a difference. That’s all! We keep up with the times on this side ’ev the water. This ’ere is a live country, sir--a live country!”

I did not quite understand how the advanced state of the country should so materially alter the mileage, but kept my own counsel. I could not help, however, reflecting that despite the fact that I was now in a land of enlightenment and progress, I had never seen such a dismal, dreary landscape in my life. Nature in her sterner aspects cannot so quell the soul of man as when she presents herself in merely bleak desolation. There was nothing but snow, which almost blinded me with its dazzling whiteness, and certainly added to the depression of my spirits.

At last Mr. Wiman drew rein at a wayside _auberge_ and told me to wait a few minutes until he returned. This was comforting. The atmosphere was not 90° in the shade--it was 20° below zero! I jammed my hard felt hat down over my face, under the impression that by getting my head into it as far as possible I should keep my ears from dropping off. Foolishly enough, I had neglected to purchase a fur cap when in Montreal, and now bitterly repented my want of forethought.

The first quarter of an hour did not seem so very long, as my mind was occupied with hundreds of conflicting thoughts, and those inevitable “first impressions” which chill one’s cherished hopes. But when a “few minutes” slowly dragged itself into a good half-hour, it struck me that the Canadian method of reckoning the flight of time must be conducted on the broad basis which characterized the mileage. I rubbed my hands with snow to keep them warm and prevent them from freezing, and jumping off the sledge I paced rapidly up and down, under the veranda in front of the hostelry, to induce circulation. I had read something and heard more about the climate in this part of the world, and was afraid that unless I was extremely careful I should coagulate into one complete block of ice. At last my patience was exhausted, and I determined to go in quest of my employer. I found him, the centre of a small circle of _convives_ assembled around the stove, discussing in broken French and English, thick with authority and liquor, the question of commercial union.

I nervously asked him when he intended to resume his journey. He replied by pointing to a vacant seat, and asking me to take “something hot.” I was half frozen, and readily accepted the offer.

“Sorry--hic--sorry I forgot you,” he said, with a cheerful smile.

“Don’t mention it,” I replied politely. “I’m still alive.”

In another hour or so the party broke up, leaving Mr. Wiman decidedly none the better for his potations. In fact, he was wholly unfit to have charge of the horse.

He took my arm, and staggering out into the cold again, we found the horse lying down in the snow, almost stiff, and the sledge overturned. It was dark. In Canada there is no twilight. It is a sudden transition from day into night, and I began to wish myself back in Montreal. However, after many kicks and objurgatory coaxings, the poor beast was induced to stand up, and righting the sledge and replacing my belongings, we again took our seats. Mr. Wiman then handed the reins to me with instructions to drive “home,” and fell fast asleep on my shoulder. I did not, of course, know the road in the least, but the horse did. He had been left for a “few minutes” on many occasions before. I could not refrain from inwardly making comparisons between the brute and his master, not altogether favorable to the intelligence of the latter. I also did not forget to thank God for the brute’s endowment, as otherwise we should in all probability have been buried beneath the snow, which, in some places, was over ten feet in depth. As it was, the ride was not unattended with danger, as it was hard to see the track in the dark, and every now and again the poor animal slid up to his neck in the snow, and only extricated himself after severe struggles. The farmer awoke at intervals, when the sledge was almost overturned, but he kept his seat wonderfully. This, of course, was the force of long habit. I have heard of tipsy sailors preserving their equilibrium in the same marvelous fashion. Wiman would then encourage the horse with a few sanguinary expressions, and again relapse into the land of Nod. As this may be getting wearisome to the reader, I will only mention one other incident of that memorable drive.

Just in front of the homestead we encountered a very large drift, and as the horse endeavored to scramble through it, the sledge upset and deposited both of us at least a couple of feet under the snow. I was the first to get my head above the surface, and began to search for my companion and my box. I found the son of Bacchus coiled up quite content. After sundry kicks he realized his position, and clutching the sledge with both hands, instructed me to let go the traces and free the horse. This I did, and, after many attempts, the unfortunate beast regained his feet.

In a few minutes more we were safe in the barn, and having watered and fed the horse, we made our way into the house, which, from what I could make of it, was simply another barn of somewhat greater pretensions. But even this looked very inviting after my late experience of the Canadian roads.

The floor of the kitchen, sitting-room and drawing-room--a domestic combination, which we now entered--was almost covered with snow that had entered through the doors on either side. An enormous stove or range was placed in the centre of the room, and the walls were decorated with pictorial representations, mostly culled from the Christmas issues of various illustrated periodicals. A deal table, a kitchen dresser, sparsely laden with crockery of assorted patterns and culinary utensils, and a few rickety chairs, completed the inventory of furniture.

Mr. Wiman pointed to a plate of hash which stood upon the table--which, it is almost unnecessary to mention, was quite innocent of a cloth--and told me “to get outside of it.” I did not require a second invitation, but fell to like a hungry wolf.

Just then a female voice from an adjoining room shrieked out, “Is that you, Nathan?” to which the gentleman in question, who was tugging at his boots in a fruitless endeavor to remove them, responded in the Canadian affirmative, “Yah.”

“H’ain’t you ’toxicated?”

“Yah.”

“As usual,” resumed the voice, not angrily, but with a philosophical mixture of sadness and good-humor.

“Yah.” Wiman had a fondness for this peculiar monosyllable. “Come and take off these darned boots. They don’t mind me.”

At this frank confession I could not help laughing aloud. This brought Mrs. Wiman, for it was she, to the door, attired in a dilapidated dressing-gown and a pair of very masculine carpet slippers, with an old hussar undress uniform jacket thrown over her shoulders, the whole surmounted by a huge nightcap. Her strange appearance did not tend to decrease my mirth. The good woman, however, was not in the least indignant at my rude behavior, and, indeed, seemed to enter into the joke herself. I introduced myself, and was then asked a great many questions respecting the art of milking, etc., to which I replied with some diffidence, as my knowledge of such matters was not very extensive. As a boy, I remember gazing in at the entrance of a dairy in our street by the hour together, dreaming of green fields and babbling brooks, but I had never seen any cows there. The principal object that attracted my attention was--what? I won’t disclose. The joke is too ancient.

When I had finished my sumptuous repast it was nearly one o’clock in the morning, and Mrs. Wiman took up a candle, minus a candlestick, and showed me up to my room, which was on the next and top floor. I stuck the candle on the floor in the farther corner of the room, out of the wind and snow, which again made its appearance through the half-wrecked window. There was no furniture of any kind in the room, with the exception of a low truckle-bed.

I was then left alone, as I thought, but on looking towards the bed I noticed that it had already an occupant, who reminded me of what Robinson Crusoe must have looked like after having been deprived of his barber for a twelvemonth. I crept silently into bed, generously giving my companion the greater half of it, and laid awake, thinking over the events of the past few hours, until it was almost daylight, when I fell into a troubled sleep. I seemed to have been asleep only a few minutes, however, when an alarm clock, which I had not noticed standing in the recess of the window before retiring, began to make its presence known in a very demonstrative manner. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, invoking anything but blessings upon the devoted head of the inventor of these execrable “utilities.” My partner turned over and uttered a groan, and then becoming aware of my presence, he said, “Thank ’evin you’ve come at last.” Somehow I could not find it in my heart to echo this sentiment.

“Why?” I asked.

“’Cause, I’ll be able to leave now.”

“Oh. But how is it that you are going?”

“I guess you’ll soon find out why. Anyway, there’s no time for talking on this ’ere farm. Shove on yer things and foller me.”

This was not very encouraging, but I did not hazard any further remarks, and was soon ready to follow my Job’s comforter. I began to think that life on a Canadian farm was not all _couleur de rose_. When we reached the kitchen, he lit a couple of lanterns, and we stepped out into the yard, nearly up to our waists in snow. That fellow Thomson, who sang of the sluggard and enlarged upon the advantages of early rising, never put his theories into practice. If he had tried getting up at four ~A. M.~ in picturesque Canada, in the depth of winter, he would have tuned his lyre to a different strain.

We then went into the stable, and Jim (my partner) gave me a bucket to fetch some water for the horses, also a shovel with which I was to find the pump. This was not an unnecessary precaution. The pump was situated somewhere about one hundred yards from the barn. The wind had been very boisterous during the night, and the snow had drifted in deep reefs over a mile long, and the pump was completely buried. Finding that I was not very successful in my search, Jim joined me, and by our united efforts we at last discovered it. I am certain that no old-time Californian miner was ever more delighted at striking gold than I was when we found that pump. I thought I should lose my ears before we uncovered it.

On returning from this voyage of discovery we were met by Mr. Wiman, who told me to follow him and “milk.” The cow-barn was at the far end of the yard, and housed over fifty head of cattle. Another tramp through the snow! I noticed that this place was far warmer even than the house, which I rightly attributed to the animal life within its walls. This “milking” was a practical test of my abilities which I had not been looking forward to with any great eagerness. I will pass over this experience, which even after this lapse of time makes a cold sweat start out upon my brow. Suffice it to say, that after one hour of pulling and tugging, with great beads of perspiration rolling down my cheeks, to the utter disgust of the cow, and at great personal risk, I succeeded in obtaining sufficient lacteal fluid for, at least, one cup of tea. By this time breakfast was ready for me; I was ready for breakfast, and the meeting was adjourned.

The _pièce de résistance_ was the hash of the previous evening, re-hashed; but farm work does not foster one’s epicureanism, and I ate like an alderman. When I had finished my meal I drew my chair up to the stove and produced a pipe, thinking that an hour was allowed for each meal. I was soon informed to the contrary, however, by Mr. Wiman, who burst into a hearty laugh.

“Ah, that’s English, don’t cher know? It won’t wash out ’ere. I’d advise you to follow Jim, and larn ’ow to ’itch on a team for drawing bark. We don’t di-gest our food in this country, yer know. It’s got ter take its chance.”

The next thing to be done was to water the cattle, which was no easy task. The spring, or watering-place, was in the centre of the field adjoining the yard, at a distance of half a mile, and was only distinguishable by a tree which stood close to it. We procured a shovel and hatchet, and after a great deal of shoveling we came upon the trough, which was filled with solid ice at least a foot in thickness. I suggested that a little dynamite kept upon the premises would be a handy article in winter, at which witticism Jim surrendered all the smile that was left in him after a protracted spell of farm-labor. At last we broke the ice sufficiently for two cows to drink at once, and Jim told me to run up as fast as my legs would carry me and turn out six cows, as otherwise the water would freeze again. The reader may think that this verges upon exaggeration, but I can assure him, or her, that on more than one subsequent occasion I had to break the ice a second time within the space of a quarter of an hour.

When all the cows had been watered, there was “clearing-out” to be done. This was not a particularly clean occupation, but it was, at all events, far warmer. Then came feeding, which with our careful management took a great deal of time and a surprising amount of hay. Jim was always thinking of his master’s best interests. He explained this carelessness by confiding to me that he had worked for twelve months for “glory,” that is, without remuneration, beyond bed and board. He said that this was the only way in which he could get a portion of his arrears from his respected employer. I had also agreed to come upon the same terms during my novitiate, and had indeed paid a small premium, but I had not anticipated such a lengthy term of apprenticeship.

Wiman now entered and announced dinner, a call to which we quickly responded. Mrs. Wiman appeared to have quite a genius for making hashes; indeed, she was a rustic Soyer. As I had by this time learned to expect, the chief dish was a resurrection of the morning’s meal, with sundry vegetable additions. I was very hungry, but I must confess indulged in irritants (_i. e._, pepper and salt) to an extent which would have put to shame an Anglo-Indian with a cast-iron interior. Pastry was a sybaritic innovation which had not then found its way into this part of the Dominion.

We passed the afternoon in much the same way as the morning, and worked until 7.30 ~P. M.~, when we supped on bread and cheese and went to bed.

The next day was Sunday, a day which in the dear “old country” is usually kept holy, with an exemption from all toil not absolutely necessary. My first Sabbath on the farm had almost slipped away before I remembered what the day was. Thinking that the farmer had also made a mistake, I mentioned the matter to him. He seemed quite surprised at my religious scruples, which he regarded as another evidence of British insular retrogression, and remarked that all days were alike to him. And so it proved, for we spent the whole of that afternoon ploughing snow, which drifted again almost as quickly as it was furrowed.

In the evening Jim broached the subject of his resignation to the “boss,” who blankly refused to accept it, and informed him that if he wanted to go he must walk to the station, as he would see him--ahem’d--before he would allow him the use of a horse and sleigh. As I have said before, the village was considerably over five miles from the farm, and to walk there through the snow was out of the question. It meant almost certain death.

But Jim avowed his intention of performing this feat, and very early on the following morning he rose, packed up his scanty wardrobe, and departed.

Just before daybreak, about two hours after Jim’s exit, the infernal clock rang out my doom. Upon reaching the barn I hung my lantern upon a hook in the beam above, and sitting down upon my milk-stool, commenced operations upon one of the cows.

Suddenly I heard a voice at my elbow. “I can’t go through that wood--it’s haunted.” A little bit scared myself, I turned round abruptly, and in the dim light encountered the white face of the adventurous Jim. Pulling myself together, I rather hastily demanded what uneasy spirit could find pleasure in being out in such beastly weather.

“Well, you come with me, and see if there ain’t a ghost.”

Curious to know what had frightened the fellow, I took down the lantern, and together we sallied forth into the snow. We had hardly reached the middle of the meadow when a dark object came rushing towards us, and a sepulchral “bur-bur” sent Jim flying back in the direction of the barn.

“There it is!” he cried, in a voice full of terror.

I held the lantern aloft and shouted, “Who’s there?”

“Bur-bur,” was the reply. Then I ascertained the name and condition of this perturbed spirit. It was a _calf_! It suddenly dawned upon me that I had noticed the barn door was open when I first came down, and I immediately came to the conclusion that Jim had let the ghost out himself when he went in to put on his boots, which he was in the habit of leaving in the barn when his day’s work was over.

When Jim received a personal introduction to his ghost, he grew as courageous as Bob Acres before he came into actual contact with pistols and cold lead, and shouldering his bundle again he started forth, just as daylight was dawning in the east. I gave him my pouch of tobacco to render his journey less irksome, and that was the last I ever saw or heard of poor Jim.

The weather for the next three weeks was comparatively fine, and I got along far better, and sometimes managed to find time to indulge in the luxury of a “farmer’s holiday,” viz., chopping wood. Mr. Wiman seemed to be, on the whole, very well satisfied with me, and encouragingly informed me that he had no doubt but that I should get into working order by the time work commenced, which, in his opinion, was not until the spring, when ploughing, etc., began. This was something of a revelation to me. In my intense ignorance of farm matters I had imagined that there was already plenty to do.

It now became forcibly evident to me that I was not intended for a farmer. A daily communion with nature appeared every day less like the celestial “all beers and skittles” I had previously conceived it to be. The smoky London I had left became by comparison with my present surroundings a very seventh heaven of felicity. I began to long once more to relapse into a unit in one of the world’s great loveless hives. I communicated my desire to Mr. Wiman. He would not hear of my leaving him until the expiration of three months, vowing that I had agreed to stay for that term, and threatening that if I attempted to leave without his sanction, he would “have the law of me.” I had made no such agreement, but I saw that it would not help me to make a disturbance, and so restrained my natural indignation at such treatment. However, I determined to seek pastures new, and prepared my traps for flight at the first opportunity which offered itself.

I had not long to wait. A few days after my skirmish with the “boss,” he had to attend to some very important business at a neighbor’s farm about two miles farther east. Now or never was the time to escape. I immediately began my preparations by harnessing the best horse in the stable to a sledge. Everything was packed, so there was only the transfer of my chest from my room to the sledge. But how should I accomplish this without arousing her ladyship’s suspicions? The fates were propitious. I had barely finished harnessing the horse, when Mrs. Wiman’s stately form emerged from the house, with a hatchet in her hand.

“Where are you off to?” she inquired.

“Oh, I’m going to the wood to draw bark,” I replied, leisurely surveying the straps to disarm suspicion.

“S’pose you’ll be back in time for dinner,” she said, picking her way across the yard and entering the corn-bin, where a plentiful supply of killed cow was always kept.

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “And I guess when I return I’ll be jolly hungry, so please cut off a double dose for me,” I added, venturing upon a little joke as a kind of farewell. Then I darted across the yard, and went up to my room--I don’t know how many stairs at a time--and, by a herculean effort, shouldered my box, hurried down again, almost breaking my neck in my haste, and had it on the sledge before I had breath enough to say “Jack Robinson.” I was just in the act of covering it over with some sacks when Mrs. Wiman reappeared with a huge piece of raw flesh in her hand. She comprehended the situation in a flash.

“So you are a-going to draw bark, are yer? Not to-day, my beauty!” I cannot lay much claim to this distinction, and so remained modestly silent. Men cannot receive flattery with the same brazen effrontery which characterizes the least beautiful members of the softer sex.

“Now just take that ’orse out, afore I come and ’elp yer,” she continued. “And be lively about it, my fine feller.”

I was now fairly seated ready to start, and catching up the reins I lashed the horse, and we plunged out of the yard.

“Stand away, there, ma’am. Look out, or there’ll be a circus on this farm!”

* * * * *

What a drive that was! The snow began falling in heavy flakes, and I had only a very slight acquaintance with the road, but we went like the wind. Here we go through a drift! Capsized?--no, another miracle in our favor. The horse stumbles--he’s down? No, Providence again! Shall I be too late for a train? I have not the least idea of the time-table, but drive as if a whole legion of excited women in old huzzar jackets, with streaming hair and vengeance in their hearts, were after me.

Ah! there’s the lake, and over yonder is the railway station. The wind blows in my teeth; my blood tingles with excitement, and the horse, entering into the spirit of the affair--bolts! Yes, I have lost all control over him. He throws up his head, sniffs the keen air, and taking the bit between his teeth, tears through the snow, scattering it in clouds on either side, like a thing possessed. Here is another dilemma. Supposing he should take it into his head to gallop on right past the station, and return home by a short cut known only to himself. I hardly know now whether I should accentuate this period with a mark of interrogation or exclamation. I think a very large? would be the most suitable, as somewhat expressive of the chaos of horrors presented to my mind as the possibility of such a contingency arose. I cannot express what my feelings were at that moment; I leave the reader to draw his own inferences from the--?

The station at last! Thank Heaven! The runaway tears into the yard, but not deeming himself capable of clearing either the fence or the shanty, he comes to a dead standstill. I’m saved! I rush into the shanty, where I find the station-master fast asleep in his chair. My hurried entrance awakes him, and he starts up red in the face with anger and surprise, at such a display of energetic impatience in his private domain.

“What do you want, young man?” he asks, severely.

“I want a ticket for Montreal. When does the next train start?”

“Is that all ye disturbed me for? Well, I guess,” he replied, with provoking deliberateness, again settling himself comfortably in his chair, “I guess you’re afraid of being late, ain’t you? I likes punctual young men, that I do!”

“When does the train start?” I cried, angrily.

“Well, I rather think she’s got to get here first. _But_, if all’s well, she’ll start from this ’ere dee-pôt in three hours’ time.”

Three hours!--three mortal hours to wait. Horrors! Why, that gave time for Wiman to return home and start in pursuit. I paced up and down the yard like a caged lion, glancing every few minutes in the direction of the lake. At length the train came in sight, and almost simultaneously I noticed a team galloping with incontinent haste through the blinding snow, half-way across the lake.

It was a race between the iron horse and thews and sinews. On they come. Which will be the first in? With breathless interest I glance from one to the other.

Hurrah! the train is in. My baggage is checked and in the van.

“All aboard there! Right away!”

Here comes Wiman through, puffing and blowing like a grampus; and standing with easy grace upon the platform of the hindmost car, there goes “yours truly.”

A NIGHT PADDLE.

Amid the lilies in the marsh The frogs in solemn chorus croak; The owlet’s hooting, weird and harsh, Is sounding from the hollow oak. And far upon the hillside dark I faintly hear the foxes bark.

Across my face the bat’s light wing Just brushes with a strange dismay; And from the shores some frightened thing Slips softly down and swims away. A fish leaps up--a silver flash, ’Mid widening ripples--and a splash!

A thin, wan spectre of the moon Is rising late behind the hill; The strange mad laughter of the loon Peals o’er the lake--then all is still. Amid the reeds, a gleaming spark-- A fire-fly dancing in the dark.

I hear the heart of Nature beat! The world of men is far away. O Soul, thy tameless brothers greet! Thou art, to-night, as wild as they. The savage blood is coursing fleet! My heart with Nature’s heart doth beat!

_M. E. Gorham._

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

BASEBALL.

~The~ legislative work of the season of 1888 ended with the conventions of the National League and the American Association; the former being held in New York on November 21st, and the latter in St. Louis on December 5th. What was accomplished by the two organizations will unquestionably lead to an improvement in the working of the professional baseball business in 1889. Not only were the playing rules of the game greatly improved--though there is still room for further advancement toward a perfect code--but a movement was made toward the adoption of a system of salaries for players, more in accordance with the merit of the individual, and with the increase in the financial success of the clubs as a whole, than is possible under the previous star systems with its fancy salaries. The plan of grading salaries which was adopted at the League convention, and which could not be successfully carried out without the co-operation of the American Association, was virtually endorsed by the latter at their December convention by the appointment of a special committee to work out with a similar committee of the League a plan of grading salaries. These committees meet in New York in March, 1889. Neither organization took

## action at their respective conventions as to the adoption of the

double umpire plan, which is the only true solution of the umpire difficulty. The American Association, by reducing the salaries of umpires to figures below those paid to their lowest-salaried player, took a decided step backward, as it is a short-sighted policy to discourage the entrance of the best class of men into the corps of umpires. The onerous duties of a capable staff of umpires exceed in the value of the work done those of the most important players of the club team, and they should be placed on a par with the best players in the matter of salaries, especially in view of the fact that good umpiring conduces as much to the financial success of a club as the work of successful battery players. Thousands of patrons were driven from ball grounds last season by the disgraceful rows which were induced by unsatisfactory umpiring, and this fact should be borne in mind when arranging the umpire salary question of 1889.

The movement, inaugurated by the editor of the Dublin _Sport_, in favor of the introduction of our national game, as one of the established sports of Ireland, naturally excites great interest in the United States. It is to be hoped that it will be followed up until the American game is practically inaugurated in Dublin. Since the baseball teams now in Australia have decided to return by way of Europe and the British Isles, an opportunity will be afforded our Irish friends to see how the game is played by our professional experts. It will give a great impetus to the game if the efforts of _Sport_ in organizing an Irish professional team can be practically carried out in time for the season of 1889. It only needs some of the Yankee energy and enterprise illustrated so strikingly in Mr. Spalding’s Australian tour to make the Irish movement a decided success. As Colonel Fellows says, “There’s millions in it!”

~Henry Chadwick.~

* * * * *

BOWLING.

~No~ game has taken a greater hold on the public than bowling. The game has always been very popular at summer hotels, and most of them have half a dozen alleys. One reason of its popularity is that both sexes can join in it, as in lawn tennis; and though, of course, a man has a great advantage, there are ladies in New York who can hold their own with the majority of the men. This was shown last year at the Knickerbocker Bowling Club, when the ladies’ aggregate scores were but a few points behind those of the men, and a score of 232 was made on one occasion by a lady. So great a demand for alleys has arisen that several have been specially built in such a way that portions of the building can be cut off. Thus several clubs use the same building, and yet the members of the one club need not intermingle with the members of the other.

Of the physical advantages derived from this exercise it is unnecessary to speak, but on the matter of appropriate dress some few remarks may not be out of place. A lady’s dress should not have too abundant skirts. They should be plain and fitting to the figure as the hand is apt to catch in flowing draperies. The bodice should be tight at the waist and loose in the arms, to allow ample room for the play of the muscles. It is impossible to bowl properly in a tight bodice that restricts the action of the chest and shoulders. For the same reasons a man’s costume should be loose and easy. Care should be taken to wrap up well after bowling. The exercise heats the body and a chill is easily taken.

As a rule, people are inclined to over-bowl, _i. e._, they will insist on using a ball too heavy for their strength. A “strike” can be made as easily with a ball of medium weight as with a very heavy one, and not one man in ten or woman in a thousand is capable of using the latter. The ball should be held firmly and a short run allowed of about six to ten feet. The ball should leave the hand easily and smoothly so that no decrease of pace or deviation of direction occur from the ball bumping. The center pin should be aimed at. It is well not to aim too much in the center of the pin, as the ball is apt to “cut” through and take only the center pins, a result usually alluded to as “hard luck,” when it is in reality bad play. It does not pay to use too great exertion, for a medium pace ball is as effective as a very fast one, and the strongest cannot keep up the pace through a long game. Complaints are often made that the fingers get sore and raw from bowling. A little alcohol applied in the morning and evening and occasionally a little alum rubbed in will be found very efficacious.

One thing is absolutely necessary, viz.: that there shall be efficient boys to place the pins exactly on the proper marks. A boy can if he chooses defeat the best bowler by misplacing the pins. This may not be visible to the bowler, but it will make a vast difference when the ball reaches the pins.

~C. S. Pelham-Clinton.~

* * * * *

THE CANOEING SEASON.

~Each~ year marks a decided advance in the popularity of this delightful sport. It appeals to a great variety of tastes and temperaments. It can be enjoyed on almost any sheet of water from a small stream or pond to the ocean itself. It is so many-sided--cruising, paddling, sailing, racing, exercising--that any one who has a taste for aquatics must be interested in it, even if not to the extent of owning a canoe. The season of last year was a memorable one in many ways. The coming season promises to be a still more remarkable one in the line of racing and the perfection of the sailing-canoe, on which a great amount of thought, work and money have been spent.

It is not probable that any one canoe will be able to beat the ’88 record of the _Eclipse_--seventeen first prizes and four second prizes out of a total of twenty-one races--but it is quite likely that canoe _Eclipse_ will find a worthy rival, as the last races of the season showed canoe _Fly_ to be quite her equal if not her superior in point of speed under sail.

The canoe is limited in size by the Association rules to a length of sixteen feet, with a beam of thirty inches for that length. The problem, therefore, is to get the very best lines for this size of boat, and the best sail plan. It is wonderful that the speed of the canoe has been so increased from year to year, each season showing a marked advance over the previous one. It does seem as though the limit must soon be reached unless some better material than wood can be invented to build the boats of. The fact must also be considered that these racing-canoes are not simply racing-machines, but generally good honest boats, capable of a variety of uses and remarkably safe for navigation. The most minute details of construction and rig receive great attention, and all sorts of experiments are tried with the hope of increasing the speed a few seconds in a mile. That 1889 will show some new boats of marked speed is certain from the amount of building and designing now going on--although there seems to be little chance of any international matches being arranged.

More is written and said of the racing-canoes than of others, but the fact remains that the cruising-canoe increases at many times the rate of the racers. Cruising appeals to so many--racing to the few--canoeing has “come to stay.” As racing is now carried on the sport presents almost as many purely scientific problems as yacht-racing and building. The solving of problems is a universal occupation--and all the canoe problems will not be solved for a generation at least, so there is no fear of the interest abating.

~C. Bowyer Vaux.~

* * * * *

FOILS AND FENCING.

~An~ encouraging feature in the athletic improvement noticeable throughout the country is the increase of the devotees of the foil. Fencing is acknowledged to be the accomplishment _par excellence_ of the nobility and gentry. To its practice may be attributed much of the grace and dignity of deportment conceded to the seigneurs of the ancient regime. There is no exercise that assists so materially in keeping the members of the body in good all-round condition during the winter months. We hear of active work being indulged in by members of the leading athletic clubs in New York, Washington, Baltimore and Boston. At the New York Fencers’ Club Captain Nicholas has his hands full and is giving more lessons than ever before. Three days in the week he devotes to a large class of lady pupils; friends, sisters or relatives of the male members only being admitted to the privilege of the elegant _salle d’armes_ of this club.

Professor Regis Senac is fully employed at the New York Athletic Club, and with such pupils as Messrs. Lawson, Bloodgood and others to point to, it is no wonder that his _clientèle_ is a strong one.

The Knickerbocker Fencing Club is undoubtedly one of the most perfectly appointed and most thoroughly workmanlike _salles d’armes_ in this country. With the services of such an able and accomplished swordsman as Monsieur Louis Rondell, it is not surprising that some very fine exhibitions of clever fencing may be witnessed in the rooms. M. Rondell also has a promising class of lady-fencers. He says that his fair pupils seem to thoroughly enjoy the sport and enter more enthusiastically and spiritedly into the bouts than his _protégés_ of the sterner sex. Great things are promised in the way of a grand _salle d’armes_ in the new building that will soon be the home of the Manhattan Athletic Club. Those who don the “double diamond” will see that fencing is not neglected. In fact, they have now, under the tuition of Louis Tronchet--a graduate of the famous college of Joinville les Ponts, and the present champion of America--a very promising class.

With such an enthusiastic following as this fascinating accomplishment now boasts of, it is somewhat surprising that a champion amateur tournament is not instituted. We hope that the present season will not be allowed to pass without an attempt of the kind being made. We feel sure the leading clubs in Annapolis, Baltimore, Washington, Boston and other cities will be glad to send representatives. Will not some one take the initiative?

~Charles E. Clay.~

* * * * *

PEDESTRIAN CONTESTS.

“~The~ noblest study of mankind is man,” quoth Pope; but since these words were written man has been presented in new aspects which would have made the poet open his eyes in wonder and amazement. What would our forefathers have thought if they had been told that a man could be treated as an automatic machine, and be set going and kept going for a certain length of time? What would they have thought if they had been told that a man would succeed in covering 623 miles in six days? Yet marvelous as such a performance appears even to a man of the present day, it seems probable that the limit of endurance and pluck has not yet been reached. The outcome of the contest between the four great walkers of the world, Littlewood, Albert, Rowell and Herty may and very possibly will eclipse the new record. The remarkable feature of the last “go-as-you-please” is that no less than ten men shared in the gate receipts--a record hitherto untouched. The excellent condition of Littlewood at the end of his task speaks volumes for the thoroughness of his training, and the other contestants who had undergone a course of preparation, suffered remarkably little from their efforts. The management of the show was all that could be desired in the hands of Mr. O’Brien and his able colleagues.

~Sporting Tramp.~

* * * * *

DOG CHAT.

~The~ Executive of the National Dog Club at its last meeting passed the following resolutions:

“That the American Kennel Club be formally notified that the National Dog Club of America is ready, and will be pleased to aid it in advancing the interest of the breeders and exhibitors of this country.

“That should the American Kennel Club desire to confer with the National Dog Club, the latter, on receiving such expression, will meet it in the person of Dr. J. Frank Perry, the chosen representative of the Executive Committee.

“That hereafter at all bench shows there shall be appointees of the Executive Committee of the National Dog Club to take charge of the dogs of those of the club’s members who are unable to attend; to see that such dogs are properly benched, fed, watered, groomed, brought before the judges, etc., and at the end of the show to superintend their reshipment. The expense of such service to be borne by the National Dog Club.”

A committee was appointed to consider the expediency of “listing” the breeders of America, with the ratings of each as regards fair dealing. Twenty new members were admitted to the club.

* * * * *

~The~ American Kennel Club will do well to bury the hatchet and meet the N. D. C. half way. Far more good can be accomplished by united

## action. No fitter representative could have been chosen by the National

than Dr. J. Frank Perry, the honored president.

That is a bold venture, their proposed appointment of attendants at all bench shows, to take charge of members’ dogs. But it is a praiseworthy one, and will act as a most tempting bait to those fanciers who like to get their money’s worth.

* * * * *

~However~, the American Kennel Club has not been idle. They have not only drafted a new constitution and by-laws, materially differing from the old, but they propose to publish a Kennel Gazette and to form a club of associate members. This last scheme seems a great mistake. It is intended as a rival to the N. D. C.; but instead of being an autonomic association, it will be entitled to one representative in the counsels of the A. K. C., just as if it were a club of the local stamp, “run” by one man. As it is hoped that the unattached representative breeders will join, it will clearly be seen what an utter farce the thing would be. A body of our leading breeders would have no greater a representation than the one-man figure-head clubs!

The Kennel Gazette, it is proposed, will publish the prize lists, etc., of shows held under its rules, judges’ reports on their respective classes, and the official news of the American Kennel Club. President Belmont will provide financial support for the venture.

* * * * *

~The~ detailed report of the last American Kennel Club meeting has not been received up to the time of writing, but the telegraphed synopsis conveys news that is gratifying in the extreme.

When kennel editor of the lately defunct _Sport_, of Montreal, a case was brought to my notice which I thought demanded the fullest ventilation. It was nothing less than the fraudulent substitution of a borrowed dog for a dead one that had been entered at the Westminster Kennel Club’s Show in ’87 by a Mr. J. F. Campbell, of Montreal. I exposed the matter editorially and demanded that it should be brought before the A. K. C. for consideration. The culprit blustered, and threatened me with a suit for libel; but I was determined to see justice done, and had all the papers bearing on the case placed in the hands of a friend who “licked” them into shape, and forwarded them to an A.K.C. delegate, a friend of his, to be submitted at the earliest meeting of the club. Judgment in the case has at this last mentioned meeting been delivered, and John F. Campbell is declared suspended for one year and ordered to repay the amount of the prize-money fraudulently won by the Yorkshire terrier “Bertie,” alias “Sir Colin,” to the Westminster Kennel Club. The A. K. C. is slow, painfully slow, but in this instance it has “got there all the same.”

Last year witnessed the importation of a great number of high-class dogs. As a rule, in previous years, we have been content with buying second, third or no-class-at-all specimens in England; but not so in 1888. First, that king of all St. Bernards, the giant Plinlimmon, was exchanged for five thousand one hundred and thirteen good Yankee dollars (the highest price ever paid for a dog). Then, the hardly inferior Burns is soon to cross the pond, and Lysander and many other grand specimens of the mighty Alpine breed. The mastiffs, Orlando, Baldur and others, must not be omitted from the roll, nor the great English setters, Champion, Comet, Howard, Blue Nell and others. Gordon setters have also had added to their ranks the Champion Beaumont and his kennel mates, and the Irish setters, too, have several recruits. Nor must the many spaniels, Sussex, Field and Cocker, be forgotten.

From present indications, moreover, it would appear that we are to see other new faces from across the water on the show benches this year. Mr. E. M. Oldham, of New York, has gone to England, intent on purchasing some Black Spaniel flesh of the highest quality, especially, though low be it spoken, something with which to trail Bridford Negress’ colors in the dust. He also gives out that it is his purpose to import some Clumber Spaniels, the best obtainable; and I truly hope he will, for they are a grand breed, and are deserving of a far larger share of public favor than is at present accorded them. Our Canadian cousins have the best dogs of this breed and our State-bred specimens stand no chance in competition with them.

“Scotch” Baillie, of Lexington, Ky., has also crossed the seas, on the purchase of dogs intent. Gordon setters will probably head his string; but be on the lookout for something else. Our people are recognizing more fully each succeeding year the satisfaction to be derived from owning high-class specimens of man’s best friend. They think like an acquaintance whom I overheard say: “I love a dog, but hang it, life’s too short to waste affection on a cur, when a thoroughbred can be bought for a small outlay!”

~Dogwhip.~

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

THE ENGLISH EXOTIC.

Mrs. Langtry and Mrs. Potter have possession at present of the two theaters occupied immediately before their coming by Booth and Barrett, and Mary Anderson. The Langtry and the Potter are types of a class of dramatic exotics which have, of late years, come into prominence. They represent nothing in art; their schooling, teaching, and social life have tended to unfit rather than prepare them for work on the stage. If Mrs. Langtry had not obtained prominence in one way or other and as a beauty in England before she turned her attention to play-acting, no American manager would have troubled himself to introduce her to the American public as an actress. Without the notoriety she achieved abroad she never would have been accepted in this enlightened country by the theater-going public. Like a thoroughly sensible and practical woman she saw a chance to make a fortune here and took advantage of the opportunity. She is now playing to large houses at the Fifth Avenue Theater. When Booth and Barrett appeared there the attendance was not nearly so great. This fact alone speaks volumes for the artistic intelligence of American theater-goers. Make hay, Mrs. Langtry, while the sun shines!

THE AMERICAN EXOTIC.

Mrs. Potter is another type of the hot-house actress. Her great drawback is that she is an American, and Americans, though protectionists in the main, strange to say, dearly love the foreign article in the way of imported talent. It took Mrs. Potter some time to make up her mind whether or not she should adopt the stage as a profession. It was all right to be an amateur actress, but to be a professional actress was another thing. However, she finally made the plunge, and now she is a full-fledged actress of the Langtry type, without the slightest chance of making anything like the fortune the Lily has already piled up. Strangely enough Mrs. Potter succeeded Miss Anderson at Palmer’s Theater, just as Mrs. Langtry succeeded Mr. Booth at the Fifth Avenue. There is no other great city in the world where a similar state of things could exist. Edwin Booth, one of the greatest actors of his time, succeeded by Mrs. Langtry, a professional beauty, and Mary Anderson, who has won her position on the stage by earnest toil, hard work and persistent study, followed by Mrs. Potter, an amateur fledgeling of two seasons professional growth. _Miserere, Domine!_

A DRAMATIC GEM.

One of the best and most interesting plays New Yorkers have had an opportunity of enjoying for a long time is “Little Lord Fauntleroy,” as at present played at the Broadway Theater. It is a dramatic gem of the purest water, and will long continue to interest play-goers who have a taste for the refined in art in preference to the meretricious. Mrs. Burnett’s charming story has lost nothing of its beauty by its adaptation for the theater. As a novel it is interesting; as a stage story where its personages appear and take form before the footlights it is a delight.

IRISH ROMANCE.

Edward Harrigan, when he produced “The Lorgaire,” at the Park Theater, made an entirely new departure in his dramatic work. Laying aside for the time being the task of drawing pictures of New York life at the present day, he entered into the field of romance, and on Irish soil gathered together the material with which he has woven his story together. Apart from the dramas of Boucicault it is one of the best Irish plays written in years. Unlike the machine-made Irish play of the revolving stars, which are generally made up of a song, a jig, a priest and a handful of English soldiers, Mr. Harrigan has endeavored to picture an Irish story in dramatic form on the stage, as Carleton, Lever, Maxwell and Griffin sought to relate their tales as story-tellers in their books. If “The Lorgaire” did not catch the fancy of theater-goers as quickly as “a local” might have done, that is nothing to be wondered at. The new drama offered at the Park will enhance Mr. Harrigan’s reputation both as a writer and a player.

ENGLISH REALITY.

Pinero has written many good things for the stage, and though they may not live much beyond the present day, they are as enjoyable as anything we have in contemporaneous dramatic literature. “Sweet Lavender,” the latest of Mr. Pinero’s works, is now in the full tide of success at the pretty Lyceum Theater. It well deserves the victory it has won. Mr. Le Moyne, who plays the part of a good-hearted old barrister, with a fondness at times for his cups, is the best thing that accomplished actor has ever attempted. It is not, however, Mr. Le Moyne’s acting or the acting of any particular member of the Lyceum Theatre Company which wins approval. It is the decidedly English atmosphere of the work--the setting, scenes, properties, business and everything connected with the play--that shows with what care “Sweet Lavender” was prepared; and with such preparation it is not a matter of surprise that the public crowd the little theater to take a look at this picture from nature.

REAL GAIETY.

As intimated in a previous number of ~Outing~, the London Gaiety Company, with Nellie Farren as the bright particular star of the organization, has made a deep impression on American theater-goers. The feeling entertained by some people that Miss Farren and her ways, and the ways of the company by whom she was surrounded, were too thoroughly English to meet with recognition here, proved erroneous. The theater-goers of this city are not limited by such narrow boundaries. It was not Miss Farren’s nationality or the nationality of her company that was to undergo a test, but Nellie Farren and the London Gaiety Burlesque Company as artists. With a burlesque not adapted for an American audience--for “Monte Cristo, Jr.” is anything but bright in dialogue--they won the favors of New Yorkers. Even with the disadvantage of a poor book, they succeeded in convincing the public they could act, and dance and sing themselves into appreciation as burlesquers. Moreover the Gaiety Company did not rely wholly on the ability of Nellie Farren and Fred Leslie for all the supply of burlesque entertainment as is too often the case with such organizations. After a short trial, New Yorkers rather fancied the new comers, and toward the end began to regard them as favorites. The success of the return visit of the London Gaiety Company to the United States is pre-assured, notwithstanding the movement of Louis Aldrich, Harley Merry, and others.

~Richard Neville.~

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

~A breath~ of warm summer air seems to dispel for a moment the cold rawness of the winter day, as one turns over the pages of that most exquisitely executed volume of French drawings--“Plages de Bretagne et Jersey,” by “Mars,” (Paris: E. Plon, Nourrit et Cie.). Intensely Gallic are these drawings, and just as dainty and attractive as one would expect from the clever artist whose work they are. The bathing-dresses of Trouville are no longer strangers to these shores; but it seems as if the book fairly teems with suggestions for the amphibious maiden preparing for a summer campaign by the sea.

* * * * *

~A really~ remarkable novel, with a purpose, and that purpose strongly defined, is “Dr. Ben,” by Orlando Witherspoon (Boston: Ticknor & Co. 1888). The existence of the purpose, instead of decreasing the interest of the book by dwarfing the other incidents, in this case only heightens and increases its power. The plot is strengthened by its existence, and the story fairly abounds in incident, thrilling enough to satisfy the most insatiate novel-reader. It is extremely sensational, but the character-sketching, humor and pleasing style suffice to relieve the book of the brand of morbid sensationalism. The utmost sympathy is evoked by Ben’s character, his misfortunes, and his ultimate recovery, and the fascination exercised is so intense that scarcely one reader will lay the book down without finishing it, and what is more, carrying off an impression vivid enough to last for years.

* * * * *

~Nothing~ marks the increased popularity and importance of the cycle more than the rapid growth of its literature. “Rhymes of the Road and River,” by Chris. Wheeler (Philadelphia: E. Stanley Hart & Co.), is a volume to meet with a ready acceptance from every lover of the wheel and oar. The author shows his genuine ardor for these sports in every page, and imbues the products of his pen with this spirit. The comic poems strike us as particularly good, even though in some the author prove untrue to his first love, as, in “The Lay of a Recreant,”

“Two within a buggy, boys, behind a trotting mare, The devil take the bicycle that can with that compare!”

* * * * *

~To~ cyclists the modest, unpretentious account of a really noteworthy cycling trip, which is contained in “Pedal and Path,” by George B. Thayer (Hartford: Evening Post Association), must have proved of considerable value, while to the outside public it cannot fail to be interesting. The distance actually traveled by wheel was 4,239 miles, and the work and fatigue undergone were extreme. Mr. Thayer tells his story in a pleasant, chatty style, well adapted to the original form his writings took--newspaper letters--and furnishing pleasant light literature in book-form. There is rather an undue amount of personalities, as regards appearance of people encountered, etc., and some few passages savor of a _naïveté_ which might prove somewhat embarrassing to a young lady reader, but these are minor faults.

* * * * *

~To~ the jaded palate of the habitual novel-reader, anything new and sensational is acceptable, however wild in its conception. We should imagine, therefore, that “The Heart of Don Vega,” by Alfred Allen (Westerly, R. I.: George G. Champlin, 1888), will meet with considerable appreciation among a certain class. Novelty, sensationalism, horrors and tragedies abound in the little volume, and are withal strung into a very readable story.

* * * * *

~Among~ the best books for the benefit of the younger members of society are the following published by Messrs. Lee & Shepard, Boston: “Up the North Branch” forms the fourth volume of the Lake and Forest Series, by Capt. Charles A. J. Farrar, and is an exciting narrative of sport and adventure in the wilds of Maine. It is bound to hit the fancy of every boy. “Biding His Time,” by J. T. Trowbridge, is a story of the adventures and subsequent good fortune of a poor Ohio lad. “Mother Goose’s Melodies” and “Songs of Our Darlings” are cheap and well printed collections of old familiar nursery rhymes. “The Readings from the Waverley Novels”--edited by Albert F. Blaisdell, A.M., are a capital selection of just such passages as will catch the youthful fancy.

* * * * *

~A day-book~ of pretty thoughts, strengthened by scriptural quotations, is to be found in “Pansies for Thoughts,” from the writings of “Pansy”--Mrs. G. R. Alden--compiled by Grace Livingston. (Boston: D. Lothrop & Co.). The selections are apt and happy, while the appearance of the little volume is most charming.

* * * * *

~The~ holiday number of “Sun and Shade” (Brooklyn: The Photo-Gravure Co.) is extremely handsome. The reproductions are a marvel of art, that of Raphael’s “Madonna della Sedia” being

## particularly striking, while “See-Saw,” by John Morgan, makes a most

charming picture.

* * * * *

~Pithy~ and appropriate sentiments are found in the little pamphlet, “Stray Notes from Famous Musicians,” compiled by G. H. C. (Boston: Oliver Ditson & Co.). No page can be opened without some tersely worded truth impressing itself on the mind.

* * * * *

~The~ volume of music, entitled “Classic Tenor Songs” (Boston: Oliver Ditson & Co.), is one which fully justifies its title. It will prove a valuable addition to the existing collections of songs for male voices.

* * * * *

~A capital~ specimen of what can be done in compiling a university record is afforded by “The Yale Banner,” Louis L. Barnum, editor and publisher. The make up of the volume is all that can be desired, and the portrait groups form an interesting feature.

* * * * *

~We~ have received the “American Newspaper Annual” for 1888, issued by N. W. Ayer & Son, Philadelphia. It forms an extremely complete volume, and is of great service to advertisers.

[Illustration: AMENITIES.]

SHE ONLY SHOOK HER HEAD.

“Dear Madge, you’re the joy of my heart, And the pride of my life! Please name the near day You’ll be my true wife.” But she only shook her head, (A blonde head) And said, “Nay, nay, I cannot wed.”

(In a season or so, As I’ve reason to know, She went to Pau, And married A lord, Or an earl, Or a count.)

“Dear Kate, _you’re_ the joy of my heart, And the pride of my life! Pray name the dear day You’ll be my fond wife.” But she only shook her head, (An auburn head) And said, “Nay, nay, I cannot wed.”

(In a season or so, As I’ve reason to know, She, too, went to Pau, And married A duke, Or a prince, Or a king.)

“Dear Fan, you _are_ the joy of my heart, And the pride of my life! Now, sweet, name the day You’ll be my dear wife.” But she, too, shook her head (A darling head), And said--Nay, nay, I’ll not tell you what she said, Only this: a month from to-morrow we wed.

N.B.--(’Tis the joy of my heart And the pride of my life That I lost Madge and Kate And got Fan for a wife.)

_A. A. P._

[Illustration: ~Pleasure, Travel and Resorts~]

~The~ acclimatization of the wild turkey has been tried with great success in Austria. Count Breuner, on his estate at Graffeneck, turned down three males and four females with the result that there is now a flock of 580. In addition, some 150 have been shot on neighboring estates. The largest weight yet recorded is 19 pounds.

* * * * *

~A curious~ incident is reported from England. The Catswold hounds, Gloucestershire, recently found three foxes, and after a good run two foxes at once were killed at a place called Postlip.

* * * * *

~According~ to report, Prince Henri de Bourbon and the Princess, who are traveling in India as the Comte and Comtesse de Bardi, have been badly hoaxed by some person or persons, who are alleged to have given them tame tigers and cows to shoot. The cows one can understand, but tame tigers! Such may be found in the possession of dervishes in temples, but we doubt if any are available for turning out and shooting. A tiger so tame as that would be worth several hundred pounds to any circus proprietor.

* * * * *

~The~ London _Sunday Times_ publishes the following from its New York correspondent:

“One of the rarest and finest specimens of big game ever mounted has recently been presented by Mr. Royal Carroll to a Fifth Avenue club, where it hangs over the mantel in the smoking-room. It is the head of a Harris deer, which Mr. Carroll recently shot in that part of Africa made famous by Rider Haggard’s novels. The deer is jet black, save only his face and ears, stood 14.2, weighed 400 pounds, has backward curving horns like the ibex, and is the only specimen of the species in this country. The glowing descriptions which Mr. Carroll gives of his adventures with big game in the jungles of India and the forests of Africa have given considerable impetus to a department of sport in which we have permitted our English cousins to far outstrip us, and several expeditions similar to Mr. Carroll’s are now being planned.”

* * * * *

~Lieut.-General Burton~, in “An Indian Olio,” refers to the increasing scarceness of large game in India. After pointing out how the intrusion of the railway with the “diabolical screech of the steam whistle,” and “the demoralizing puff and snort of the rushing engine,” and the “evil odor of coal gas” penetrating the forest, acts upon such shy animals as the bison, he shows what the natives have to do with it. “Guns have of late years come much more generally into use with the natives. Where there was, fifty years ago, perhaps only one matchlock, a venerable flint musket, in a village, there are now a dozen, and natives have got much more into the habit of killing game--the eatable animals for food, the fierce and dangerous beasts (potted from a safe shelter) for the Government reward. I knew a party of natives go out under supervision, in fact, in pay of Brahmin (save the mark), with a big jingal, or wall piece, carried between two of them, until they came upon the fresh tracks of a herd of elephants. They then crept to within ten or fifteen paces and tied the jingal, ready loaded, and laid for the biggest elephant, to a tree trunk, lighted a slow match and retired to a safe distance. Presently the great weapon, which had been pointed straight for the vitals, behind the shoulder of the elephant, exploded with a report like that of a small cannon echoing through the forest.”

* * * * *

~Among~ the features of New York life which particularly strike the visitor is the extreme elegance and luxury of the Hoffman House baths. The comfort of indulging in a thorough cleansing after the inevitable discomforts of travel, whether by sea or land, is sufficient to induce every traveler to visit them. But, moreover, residents of Gotham find that nothing so conduces to general health, or is so efficient a foe to rheumatism, neuralgia, or other “evils that the flesh is heir to,” as the Turkish bath. The result is that one and all fly to this, the best appointed establishment of the kind in the city.

* * * * *

~Everybody~ is going to Paris this year to the Exposition, and in this age of progress it is no great undertaking to cross the ocean, nor is one compelled to forego many comforts while traveling. True, some dissatisfaction is expressed from time to time at the want of proper accommodations in English hotels. This criticism does not apply, however, to the magnificent _Hotel Metropole_ in London, which has already come under the favorable notice of many Americans, and is fast making new friends. Situated conveniently to the business portion of the city, while at no great distance from society’s haunts, it furnishes home comforts to the weary traveler, and affords every possible convenience and luxury.

An equally excellent and not less pretentious “hostelry” is the magnificent _Victoria Hotel_, one of the finest hotel buildings in the world, and conducted in a manner sure to please the American tourist. Its large number of patrons speak of it in terms of the highest praise. At either house rooms may be secured by cable from New York. We would advise tourists in 1889 to make sure of their apartments certainly by telegram from their landing-places in Britain.

[Illustration: ~Glances at our Letter File~]

~The~ following communication will have much interest, especially to our college readers:

The December number of ~Outing~ says: “The first game of football in the United States was played in New Haven, in 1840, between the class of ’42 and ’43 of Yale College.” I am a graduate of the class of ’28. Immediately after the opening of the fall term in 1824, the then Freshman class were summoned to a class meeting, at which they were informed that by an established custom from time immemorial it devolved on the Freshman class to furnish footballs for the use of the college. The time-honored custom was recognized at once by the class and by every succeeding Freshman class during my student life. The games were played on the upper part of the public square directly in front of the college. There were frequent contests between the two lower classes; but the great games, played as often as convenience and weather allowed, were contested by the whole body of the students, divided into two parties known respectively as “North Entries” and “South Entries.” There were then standing on the college campus four dormitory buildings, each having two halls or entries. Those students who roomed in a north entry, or if rooming anywhere north of the central building, known then as now as the Lyceum, were on one side; the rest of the students were on the other. Those were famous games, where three or four hundred men engaged in earnest contest. The long-used ground was necessarily abandoned when the civil authorities decided, in 1828, to build the State House upon it.

~Yalensis Sexagenarius.~

* * * * *

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~:

~Dear Sir~,--I was extremely pleased to note in your Open Window of the January edition that a word was spoken in behalf of rabbit coursing. Since the late cases at Hempstead an intolerable amount of nonsense has been written in the daily and weekly publications, and wholesale condemnation has been meted out to this sport, presumably by people who have never seen coursing, either with greyhounds or terriers. Those who have will, I feel sure, join with me in affirming that there is certainly no more cruelty in one sport than another; as is the greyhound to the hare or jack rabbit, so is the terrier to the ordinary rabbit, and in both cases the chance of escape is, in truth, but very small. But in rabbit coursing, as usually practiced in England, the rabbits are both found and coursed on their “native heath,” and therefore they have a very considerable advantage. I am not, however, trying to defend this or any other sport from the imputation of cruelty, for in every field-sport, properly so called, cruelty must exist. What better antidote exists to the emasculating tendencies of our boasted nineteenth century civilization? Or, who will contend that the natural propensity of the Englishman, as affirmed by the French, “to go out and kill something,” has not had much to do in placing the old country in her present position? I fail to see, myself, why the imputation of cruelty, which every journalist seems to be trying to fix on rabbit coursers, should not equally well apply to a man who will fire a gun at a partridge or pheasant. But with the curious logic of the present day, such is by no means the case. In conclusion, I must apologize for trespassing so far on your space, and heartily congratulate ~Outing~ on having spoken bravely on the matter. It is too frequently the case that where one publication leads, the others follow like a flock of sheep. Yours respectfully,

~An Old-Time Sportsman~.

* * * * *

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~:

~Dear Sir~,--In the January number of ~Outing~ there is among the Answers to Correspondents a point which I should like to see developed in your valuable magazine. It is in reference to the new Forest ponies, about which some questions had been asked by “Breeder.” The words to which I specially refer are, “they are handy and useful.” In proportion to their inches, ponies can accomplish vastly more work than full-sized horses. In fact, this remark applies equally well to donkeys. Why is it that we see no donkeys and scarcely any ponies put to do useful work in America? In England the costermonger’s “moke” has become proverbial, and it is an inspiriting sight to see a well-tended donkey trotting cheerily along, with a heavy load behind him of which he makes most marvelously light. And, again, in London every small shop-keeper has one ambition at least, and that is to own a fast-trotting pony, and a smart cart, in which to take the “missus” for her Sunday outing. The same pony pays very amply for food and lodging by taking goods to customers’ houses during the week. How different is it in New York! Here we have broken-down old car-horses, with very palpable ribs, dejectedly sauntering wearily along in the shafts of the street vendor’s wagon, and the smart pony and the patient “moke” are unknown.

Can not and will not ~Outing~ do something towards inaugurating a movement to popularize the smaller and more useful breed? Yours truly,

~A Lover of Animals~.

* * * * *

_To the Editor of_ ~Outing~:

~Dear Sir~,--I have read with great pleasure Mr. Hallowell’s article on Harvard Athletics, and look forward to the account of Yale pastimes, which I understand are to be described in the February number. I am not a graduate of either institution, but I like to read about them and the other colleges and learn of their doings in athletics, and the method ~Outing~ has adopted of presenting from time to time an account of some college athletic organization is to be highly commended. We all know the position athletics nowadays hold in the collegian’s life, and the many objections which the uninformed raise to an indulgence in sport on the part of students. ~Outing~ is doing a noble work in showing that good results from them, not harm.

~A Westerner.~

[Illustration: OUR MONTHLY RECORD]

~This~ department of ~Outing~ is specially devoted to paragraphs of the doings of members of organized clubs engaged in the reputable sports of the period, and also to the recording of the occurrence of the most prominent events of the current season. On the ball-fields it will embrace _Cricket_, _Baseball_, _Lacrosse_ and _Football_. On the bays and rivers, _Yachting_, _Rowing_ and _Canoeing_. In the woods and streams, _Hunting_, _Shooting_ and _Fishing_. On the lawns, _Archery_, _Lawn Tennis_ and _Croquet_. Together with Ice-Boating, Skating, Tobogganing, Snowshoeing, Coasting, and winter sports generally.

Secretaries of clubs will oblige by sending in the names of their presidents and secretaries, with the address of the latter, together with the general result of their most noteworthy contests of the month, addressed, “Editor of ~Outing~,” 239 Fifth Avenue, New York.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

_All communications intended for the Editorial Department should be addressed to “The Editor,” and not to any person by name. Advertisements, orders, etc., should be kept distinct, and addressed to the manager. Letters and inquiries from anonymous correspondents will not receive attention. All communications to be written on one side of the paper only._

ARCHERY.

~The~ increased interest in archery continues. The unpleasant weather about Thanksgiving Day no doubt prevented many bowmen from shooting, who otherwise would have taken part in the contests at Crawfordsville, Ind., on that day. The following are the scores received from L. W. Maxson:

Crawfordsville, Ind. 1st 24 2d 24 3d 23 4th 24 Total Will H. Thompson 24-124 21-107 14-148 22-110 91-489

Cincinnati, Ohio. W. S. Gwynn 24-130 20- 90 24-110 23-125 91-455 B. R. Byerly 19- 99 23-115 19- 95 23-101 84-410 C. R. Hubbard 17- 77 20- 92 17- 73 21-103 75-345 S. H. Duvall 19- 65 18- 88 17- 71 24-112 78-336

Brooklyn, N. Y. G. C. Spencer 23-123 22-120 20- 90 21-101 86-434

Dayton, Ky. J. T. Shawan 18-104 22-106 19- 81 19- 89 78-380 J. P. Newman 16- 62 18- 94 18- 90 20-104 72-350 Chas. Longley 21- 95 20-108 18- 76 16- 70 75-349 H. W. Longley 17- 83 21- 97 17- 85 16- 62 71-327 R. Venables 19- 79 20- 74 14- 58 15- 77 68-288 C. Heeg 13- 53 13- 75 15- 55 12- 48 53-231 W. C. McClain 9- 29 8- 28 9- 41 11- 43 37-141

Chicago, Ill. H. S. Taylor 80-378 B. Keyes 78-376 E. I. Bruce 76-322

Dayton, Ohio. A. Kern 18- 88 19- 89 20- 86 22- 88 79-351 E. B. Mumma 22-100 17- 83 17- 63 19- 89 75-335 J. A. Mumma 17- 75 17- 83 15- 69 16- 80 65-307 R. D. Wells 10- 50 3- 17 9- 37 6- 18 28-122

Washington, D. C. S. C. Ford 17- 83 22- 94 20- 84 21-107 80-368 L. W. Maxson 23- 99 23-133 23-117 21- 91 90-440

* * * * *

ATHLETICS.

~The~ Athletic Association of the Twelfth Regiment of the National Guard held its annual fall games at the Armory, December 17. The night was most disagreeable and the weather inclement. The following is a summary of the events:

Sixty-yards handicap run; first round; winners to run in second trial heats--First heat, M. Keating, N. Y. A. C., 10 feet, 7s. Second heat, E. E. Barnes, O. A. C., 5 feet, 6 4-5s. Third heat, P. E. Dehnert, S. I. A. C., 10 feet, 7 1-5s. Fourth heat, T. I. Lee, O. A. C., 3 feet, 7 1-5s. Fifth heat, W. E. Hughes, P. A. C., 6 feet, 7s. Sixth heat, A. H. Hutchings, S. I. A. C., 6 feet, 7s. Seventh heat, E. C. Bowman, A. A. C., 8 feet, 7s. Eighth heat, W. P. Henery, O. A. C., 2 feet, 7 1-5s. Ninth heat, C. G. Bolton, N. Y. A. C., 5 feet, 7s. Tenth heat, W. H. Morgan, New York City, 8 feet, 6 4-5s. Eleventh heat, R. R. Houston, P. A. C., 7 feet, 7s. Twelfth heat, G. W. Petty, K. C. C., 8 feet, 7s. Second round; winners to run in final; second men in each heat to run in a third trial heat, the winner of which shall run in final--First heat, Lee, 7s.; Keating, 2. Second heat, Hutchings, 6 4-5s.; Bowman, 2. Third heat, Morgan 6 4-5s.; Houston, 2. Third round; winner to run in final--First heat, Bowman, 7s. Final heat, Hutchings, 6 4-5s.; Morgan, 2.

Half-mile novice race; first round; first five in each heat to run in final--First heat, H. W. Paret, N. J. A. C., 2m. 31s.; F. B. Monell, L. I. W., 2; C. P. Stillman, New York City, 3; F. R. Farrington, O. A. C., 4; T. Atkinson, B. A. A., 5. Second heat, E. L. Sarre, H. Y. M. C. A., 2m. 32s., W. M. Moore, 7th Regt. A. A., 2; C. A. Simmen, New York City, 3; H. Gray, O. A. C., 4; C. B. Waite, New York City, 5. Third heat, C. Curtis, Y. M. C. A., 2m. 25 2-5s.; J. O. Jenks, P. A. C., 2; C. C. Greene, S. I. A. C., 3; A. Nickerson, S. I. A. C., 4; G. H. Christ, New York City, 5. Final heat, Nickerson, 2m. 17 4-5s.; Curtis, 2; Jenks, 3.

440-yards handicap run; first round; first and second in each heat to run in final--First heat, G. Y. Gilbert, N. Y. A. C., 9 yards, 58 3-5s.; F. S. Greene, N. B. C., 9 yards, 2. Second heat, A. Brown, P. A. C., 9 yards, 58 3-5s.; E. E. Barnes, O. A. C., scratch, 2. Third heat, W. F. Thompson, S. I. A. C., 9 yards, 59 2-5s.; E. Lentilhon, Yale A. A. and N. Y. A. C., 9 yards, 2. Final heat, Green, 57s.; Barnes, 2; Thompson, 3.

One-and-a-half-mile handicap run--E. Hjertsberg, O. A. C., 15 yards, 7m. 25s.; T. A. Collett, P. A. C., 55 yards, 2; W. D. Day, I. A. C., 100 yards, 3.

220-yards handicap hurdle race; first round; winners to run in final heat--First heat, W. H. Struse, S. I. A. C., 3 yards, 30s.; F. C. Puffer, O. A. C., 2. Second heat, A. Prentiss, S. I. A. C., 8 yards, 29 4-5s.; F. S. Greene, N. B. C., 6 yards, 2. Third heat, B. G. Woodruff, Y. M. C. A., 10 yards, 30 2-55.; E. McMullen, A. A. C., 10 yards, 2. Final heat, Prentiss, 29 3-5s.; Woodruff, 2.

One-mile handicap walk--W. A. Berrian, M. A. C., 5 seconds, 7m. 23s. W. Pollman, P. A. C., 5 seconds, 2. W. Donaghy, P. H., 20 seconds, was at first adjudged the winner in this event, but after a good deal of wrangling the men were placed as above.

Two-mile handicap bicycle race; first round; first and second in each heat to ride in final--First heat, E. I. Halstead, N. Y. A. C., 6m. 40 4-5s.; W. Schumacher, L. I. W., 55 yards, 2. Second heat, W. E. Findlay, N. Y. B. C., 120 yards, 6m. 37s. J. Borland, B. B. C., 125 yards, 2. Final heat, Halstead, 6m. 32 1-5s.; Borland, 2. In the final, while Schumacher and Findley were spurting side by side, Schumacher fell and Findley fell over him, receiving a terrible fall. He was carried away unconscious, but fortunately received no serious injuries.

One-mile relay race, open to teams of four men from any company in the Twelfth Regiment; contestants to wear fatigue uniform. Co. B, H. F. Reichers, C. J. Leach, F. M. Tyson, D. Melville, 4m. 30s.; Co. I, J. J. Stein, H. E. Hocher, A. F. Bertram, E. Cudlipp, 2.

Obstacle race, handicap; open to members of Twelfth Regiment--F. M. Tyson, Co. B, 1m. 25 2-5s.; I. C. King, Co. B, 2.

Everything passed off pleasantly.

* * * * *

~The~ Christmas paper chase of the American Athletic Club started from Four Corners, S. I., the trail covering twelve miles of rough country. The hares, W. H. White, V. Goode and J. Bailey, with eight minutes’ start, were not caught. The hounds included A. S. Malloy, E. White, J. J. McMullen, G. A. Ganz, E. Bowman, G. C. Sauer, H. A. Hertz, W. Bernard, W. H. Rose, S. Green, S. Levien, H. F. Reichers, J. Oppenheimer, J. Roberts, L. Levien, W. Camerar, J. J. Craft, R. Storey, C. Dieger.

* * * * *

~The~ Twenty-second Regimental Athletic Association will give a tug-of-war, open to colleges only at 650, regulation belt, to be pulled February 16. The entries will close February 9.

* * * * *

~The~ Elizabeth, N. J., Athletic Club recently elected the following board of officers for the ensuing year: President, H. E. Duncan, Jr.; vice-president, W. C. Phelps; secretary, E. S. Coyne; treasurer, M. B. Heibner; trustees, W. M. Oliver, W. C. Phelps, S. Toby, G. Griffen, and F. W. Pond. The club has no outstanding obligations; there is a goodly sum in the treasurer’s hands; the club property is valued at $7,000, and the members see their way to erect a building in a fashionable quarter, and equip it fully.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Riverside Athletic Club, Newark, N. J., was held last month, when the following officers were elected: President, J. K. Gore; treasurer, F. H. Presby; secretary, J. D. Mills; first lieutenant, W. A. Martin.

* * * * *

~The~ first annual meeting of the Oritani Athletic Club, of Hackensack, N. J., was held recently, and the following gentlemen were elected officers for the ensuing year: F. A. Anthony, president; J. B. Bogart and G. M. Fairchild, Jr., vice-presidents; C. J. Van Saun, recording secretary; J. Z. Ackerson, corresponding secretary; G. W. Berdan, the Rev. Arthur Johnson, A. Trowbridge, and W. M. Johnson, a board of governors.

* * * * *

~The~ Manhattan Athletic Club games were held, December 15, in Madison Square Garden. About 2,000 people were present, rather a small gathering for so important an event. The treatment, according to the _Sun_, to which the reporters of the daily press were subjected by the managers of the affair deserved condemnation. It was announced that Mr. Myers, the runner, was ill, but he very kindly consented not to disappoint the public, so gave an exhibition, with Danny Tompkins as pace-maker, but fell behind his indoor record of 1885. The following is a summary of the events:

One-and-a-half-mile walk, handicap--Won by F. Tillistrand, W. S. A. C., 75 yards; E. D. Lange, M. A. C., second; F. A. Ware, M. A. C., third. Time, 12m. 8 3-5s.

Sixty-yards run, handicap--Final heat won by W. M. Mackdermot, M. A. C., 12 feet; H. L. Dadman, W. P. Ins., 12 feet, second; J. McCarty, G. A. A., 9 feet, third. Time, 6s.

Tug-of-war, handicap--Won by Manhattan Athletic team, scratch (D. T. Brokaw, J. Senning, D. S. Low, J. F. Johnson). The only other contending team was the Cables of Jersey City, with a handicap of 6 inches (John Filce, W. Cuff, M. Cuff, M. Hanne).

One-mile run, handicap--Won by Thos. Owens, W. S. A. C., 100 yards; A. S. Vosburg, C. C. A. A., 85 yards, second; W. T. Young, Spartan Harriers, London, 73 yards, third; time, 4m. 33 4-5s. Young led until the last half lap, when Owens and Vosburg closed and beat him out. Conneff ran gamely and finished fourth. Conneff’s time, 4m. 37 2-5s.

One-mile walk, novice--won by T. McIlvaine, C. C. A. A.; C. H. Nicholas, Brooklyn, second, and C. Lardiner, W. S. A. C., third. Time, 7m. 49 3-5s.

Running high jump--Won by Z. A. Cooper, M. A. C., 10 inches, 6 ft. 1 in.; W. M. Mackdermot, second; L. D. Wildman, Stevens Institute, third. Cooper’s actual jump, 5 ft. 3 in.

Half-mile run, handicap--Won by H. L. Dadman, M. C., 39 yards, in 2m. 1 2-5s., by four yards; A. B. George, Spartan Harriers, London, second; J. A. Forbell, Brighton, A. C., 31 yards, third. George, the Englishman, caught a Tartar in young Dadman, who is but a boy. The Englishman led 100 yards from home, but the boy had great speed and won easily.

Throwing 56-lb. weight for height to beat M. O’Sullivan’s record of 13 ft. 9 in.--Mitchell, as was expected, beat all previous records, reaching 15 feet.

Attempt by Lon Myers, the middle distance professional runner, to lower his own half-mile record in the Garden, time, 2m. 2s. Myers’s time, 33, 66, 1.40 3-5, 2:11, failing by nine seconds.

Putting the 24-lb. shot--Lambrecht and J. S. Mitchell, both of M. A. C., tied at 32 ft. 7 in. There has been no putting with this odd weight for a number of years, and both men beat the best previous record by over four feet.

250-yards novice race--Won by J. A. Smith, Crescent A. C.; J. M. Hewlett second, and J. A. Lanthorn, C. C. A. A., third. Time, 30 2-5s.

Two-mile bicycle race, handicap--Won by G. F. Brown, Kings Co. W., 15 yards; J. H. Ganson, M. A. C., 16 yards, second; H. A. Keller, Thirteenth Regiment, 150 yards, third. Time, 7m. 30s. In the final heat all four contestants fell and were piled in a heap. Fortunately no one was hurt, and all remounted and finished the race. Kingsland, the Southern rider, who started from scratch, was unplaced.

250-yards hurdle race, handicap--Won by C. F. Bostrick, Crescent A. C., 8 yards; H. S. Young, Jr., M. A. C., 5 yards, second. Herbert Mapes, C. C. A. C., 3 yards, third. Time, 32 2-5s.

440-yards run, handicap--Won by J. C. Devereaux, M. A. C., 10 yards; W. J. Carr, Brighton A. C., 25 yards, second; C. P. Ward, W. S. A. C., 15 yards, third. Time, 54 3-5s.

* * * * *

~The~ second cross-country race of the Athletic Club of the Schuylkill Navy took place December 14, over a course in Fairmount Park, extending from the Malta Boat House to and around Belmont Mansion and return. The distance was 5½ miles, over a rough course. The following members of the club took part in the run: Paul E. Huneker, W. P. Myrtelus, W. H. Rocap, J. C. Graham, P. J. Siddall, Abbott Collins, W. B. McManus, John Y. Parke, and E. F. Van Stavoren. Myrtelus finished first, time, 35m. 2 2-5s.; Rocap second, time, 35m. 17½s.; Graham third; Huneker fourth; Siddall fifth, and Parke sixth. Edward Flood acted as referee, and Fred Allen, T. H. Cameron, and R. M. Camanche were the judges and timers.

* * * * *

~The~ games given under the auspices of the Seventh Regiment Athletic Association were held in the regiment’s big armory in this city December 8. The gathering of ladies and gentlemen to witness the events was very large. The prizes were gold and silver trophies to the first and second in each event. The track was ten laps to the mile.

Officials--Referee, Lieut. Walter G. Schuyler, staff; judges, Capt. Daniel Appleton, Co. F, Capt. J. Thorne Harper, Co. I, Capt. Charles E. Lydecker, Co. H, Lieut. George W. Rand, staff, Lieut. Walter S. Wilson, Co. E; judge of walking, William Wood, N. Y. A. C.; handicapper, W. G. Hegeman; starter, Prof. George Goldie; timekeepers. Corporal F. W. Colwell, Co. F, Mr. John H. Abeel, Jr., Co. K; clerk of the course, Private George B. Barcalow, Co. B.

93-yards run, scratch--H. C. Jones, Co. C, 1; G. R. Martin, Co. H, 2; time, 10 3-5s.

130-yards run, scratch, for the regimental championship--C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G, 1; W. C. White, Co. B, 2; time, 15s.

Half-mile walk, scratch--Open only to those who had never won a prize at walking--William McKee, Co. E, 1; S. Frothingham, Co K, 2; time, 4m. 1s.

440-yards run, handicap--J. P. Thornton, Co. C, scratch, 1; F. H. Crary, Co. H, 12 yards, 2; time, 59s.

Tug-of-war--As Company H was the only one to enter a team no contest took place, but an exhibition pull was given, in which Company H beat a picked team by two inches.

One-mile bicycle race, scratch--Herbert Janes, Co. I, 1; S. V. Hoffman, Co. K, 2; time, 8m. 53 1-5s.

Running high jump, scratch--Alexander Stevens, Co. F; height, 5 ft. 4 in.

220-yards run, handicap--C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G, 5 yards, 1; E. L. Montgomery, Co. I, 11 yards, 2; time, 27s.

1000-yards run, handicap--G. Y. Gilbert, Co. B, scratch, 1; W. M. Moore, Co. I, 50 yards, 2; time, 2m. 26 2-5s.

Sack race, 50 yards--J. C. Westlake, Co. I, 1; C. L. Jacquelin, Co. G, 2; time, 8s.

220-yards hurdle race, handicap--C. F. Bostwick, Co. G, 6 yards, 1; C. S. Busse, Co. F, 15 yards, 2; time, 29s.

One-mile walk, handicap--F. A. Ware, Co. B, scratch, 1; Thomas McClelland, Co. E, 55 seconds, 2; time, 7m. 25s.

Half-mile run, scratch; for regimental cup--Alex. Stevens, Co. F, 1; Herbert Jones, Co. I, 2; time, 2m. 30s.

Wheelbarrow race, two laps, handicap--C. S. Busse, Co. F, 8 yards, 1; F. H. Crary, Co. H, 8 yards, 2; time, 51s.

One-mile run, handicap--P. R. Irving, Co. K, 100 yards, 1; F. Vores, Co. E, 100 yards, 2; time, 4m. 45s.

Three-legged race, one lap, handicap--C. L. Jacquelin and C. S. Busse, 6 yards; time, 25s.

Two-mile bicycle race, handicap--C. T. Burhans, scratch, 1; H. Janes, 75 yards, 2; time, 6m 52s.

Team race, four laps, scratch--Co. B, G. Y. Gilbert, F. A. Ware and W. C. White, 1, by 11 points; P. R. Irving, H. L. Bloomfield and H. W. Warner, Co. K, 2, with 16 points.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Manhattan Athletic Club was held December 10. The officers, with the exception of President Carr, the vice-presidents, and Treasurer Walton Storm, who hold over, were elected as follows: Secretary, Charles C. Hughes; first lieutenant, Charles M. King; second lieutenant, John Black; trustees, E. F. Hoyt, L. A. Stuart, J. M. Tate, James Magee, Warren Sage and George F. Linlay.

* * * * *

~A new~ Athletic Club has been formed in Minneapolis, which bids fair to be an influential organization. Recently it had a grand entertainment at the Opera House, and a programme arranged by Professor Charles Duplessis was carried out very effectively. The charter members of the club as it now stands number 100. With a few exceptions they are as follows:

A. W. Grismer, S. P. Jones, H. C. Chapin, R. R. Rand, H. J. Pyle, S. B. Hall, R. de Freville, C. M. Palmer, W. E. Haskell, J. W. Molyneux, James Gray, C. M. Shultz, W. Wettleson, B. J. Mullany, W. A. Edwards, M. R. Thurlow, L. D. McLain, C. A. Ostrow, E. A. Taylor, R. E. Park, P. H. Beall, J. O. Davis, H. C. Stebbins, H. T. Black, A. H. Bare, G. S. Dammond, R. H. Gallagher, S. Kelliher, A. R. Walker, W. T. Pauly, B. Bryan, J. L. Kearney, J. E. Luck, E. M. Christian, W. M. Wright, J. W. Field, W. B. Wheeler, J. H. Steele, S. Baker, F. D. Larabee, F. H. Boardman, O. Abbott, J. Rose, F. M. Rowley, F. J. Scudder, A. K. Skaro, J. G. Skaro, E. J. Morrison, J. Scanlon, J. C. Harper, A. Poehlin, G. Rallis, T. Gallagher, E. H. Crane, C. A. Brown, W. H. Curtiss, W. A. Schoenbaum, J. McNall, J. C. Black, C. G. Goodrich, E. W. Goddard, C. H. Babcock, A. Nagle, F. A. Parker, C. D. Parker, F. G. James, J. L. Amory, P. C. Most, E. E. Graham, A. P. Erickson, F. W. Eastman, A. J. Blethen, A. T. Rand, H. J. Neiler, L. Harrison, F. B. Drischel, C. W. Darling, J. Boyer, N. Whitney, W. B. MacLean, F. W. Maynard, G. A. Dusigneaud, W. C. Martin, George Caven, Sam Morton, H. Hock, H. Griffin, H. Libby, C. Libby, C. W. Dana, L. Watson, H. Watson, H. Saulspaugh, J. C. Callahan, C. L. Jacoby, E. M. Murphy, W. Hays, J. W. Burton, Theo. L. Hays, M. Breslauer, S. C. Lewis, Bert Goodhue, Ed Blomquist, W. W. Lewhead, G. A. Berwin, A. J. Berwin, P. A. Halther, Pat Gibbons, H. C. Hanford, and A. R. Taylor.

* * * * *

~An~ athletic tournament was held, December 15, at the First Regiment Armory in Chicago, under the auspices of Company C, First Infantry, I. N. G. There was a good attendance of athletes, and many ladies were present.

The event of the evening was the six-round sparring match for points between W. W. Wade and Thomas Morgan, the winner to carry off a handsome diamond medal. The contest was well fought, and both men showed evidence of being pretty well winded when the referee, amid much applause, declared. Wade the winner.

The fencing bout between the Misses Jennie Hepburn and Josephine Friel, pupils from Mrs. Roundtree’s Gymnasium, was won by Miss Jennie Hepburn, who was thereupon presented with a handsome pair of foils by Company G. The remainder of the programme was as follows:

Heavy-weight collar-and-elbow wrestling between James Curran and Albert Zimmerman; won by Curran in 1 minute and 30 seconds.

Light-weight sparring between Frank Gebbard and William Church.

Middle-weight catch-as-catch-can wrestling between Walter Moore and George K. Barrett; won by Barrett.

World’s champion Indian club swinger, A. H. Rueschau.

Feather-weight sparring, Messrs. Wood and Frazier.

Queen of clubs, Miss Hilda Rueschau.

Scientific sparring.

Græco-Roman light-weight wrestling, Messrs. Smythe and O’Day.

Middle-weight sparring, Messrs. Arthur and Toomey.

Fencing lesson and attack double.

* * * * *

~Considerable~ dissatisfaction is shown by Amherst students at the lack of interest in athletic sports. The football team met with little success, and general sports have but few followers. An effort will be made to arouse the students to a sense of their duty to support, with muscle or the welcome dollar, the various athletic games. A felt running track, canvas covered, has been put down in the gymnasium, and some good results may be looked for in the spring.

* * * * *

~The~ cross-country race for the championship of Yale University was held on Saturday, December 8, with only six entries. The course was laid starting from the south end of the Field due west to Lake Maltby, around it, and back to the Field by way of the Derby road, a distance of about six miles. Lloyd, ’91, was the first man in, time 35 minutes, followed by Holton, T. S., two minutes later. Reynolds, ’91, Ryder, ’91, and Hinckley, ’89, also finished in the order named. Sherill, ’89, acted as starter and judge. The winner received the cup emblematic of the cross-country championship, and the second and third men were also awarded prizes.

* * * * *

~Strenuous~ efforts are being made by the students and alumni of Phillips Andover Academy to raise a sufficient amount to warrant the erection of a new gymnasium building. The want of proper facilities for gymnasium work and the absence of a running track have hindered the students from achieving much in this branch of sport in late years.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletic Association of Trinity College held a hare-and-hounds December 8. The hares were given a start of eight minutes. Fourteen hounds followed. The course was between eight and nine miles, over a stiff country. The hares were in first, with the leading hound but three hundred yards behind. The first hound received a silver-plated vase, the second a silver medal.

* * * * *

~Hare-and-hounds~ and cross-country runs are very popular just now among college men.

* * * * *

~At~ the Manhattan Athletic Club games, December 15, Samuel Crook, Williams, ’90, gained the title of champion in three events--the standing high and broad jumps, and three standing broad jumps.

* * * * *

~The~ Brown University Athletic Association has a large number of men at work in the gymnasium under a competent trainer. Each man is training for the events he is best fitted to enter, and two tug-of-war teams have been put to work.

* * * * *

~The~ thirteenth field day of the Athletic Association of the University of California occurred December 5, and was one of the most successful and satisfactory ever held. The list of events is as follows:

100-yards run--T. McGee, ’91, first in 10 4-5s.; J. B. Garber, ’92, second.

220-yards run, handicap--F. W. McNear (scratch), first in 24 2-5s.; Wright, ’90 (5 yards), second.

Mile run, handicap--E. R. Rich, ’90 (scratch), first in 5m. 23½s.; E. Bunnell, ’91 (45 yards), second.

Putting 16-pound shot--J. Bouse, ’91 (scratch), first with 35 ft. 6 in.; De Winter, ’92, 2½ ft., second.

100-yards run--F. W. McNear (scratch), first in 10 3-5s.; E. Mayes (2 yards), second.

Half-mile run--E. C. Hill, ’90, first in 2m. 10 2-5s.

100-yards run, three-legged race--Lakenan, ’90, and Gates, ’91, first in 12½s.

120-yards hurdle race--H. C. Moffitt, ’89 (scratch), first in 19s.; J. Bouse (10 yards), second.

440-yards run--F. W. McNear, first in 53½s.

Throwing 12-pound hammer, handicap--Morrow, ’91, 8 ft., first with 102 ft. 6 in.

Running long jump, handicap--W. A. Wright, ’90, 1 ft., first with 19 ft. 5 in.; F. W. McNear, ’90 (scratch), second.

One-mile relay race--Won by ’91 in 3m. 47 2-5s, with the following team--Gallagher, Fisher, Gates, T. Magee, and Head.

Tug-of-war--’89 vs. ’91, won by ’91; ’91 vs. ’92, won by ’92.

In six of the above events--putting 16-pound shot, half-mile run, three-legged race, 440 yards, throwing 12-pound hammer, running long jump--the University records were broken.

* * * * *

~At~ the Lincoln College sports, Oxford, England, which took place December 4, F. J. K. Cross added yet another to his list of records. The day was almost perfect for running, the atmosphere being clear and mild, with almost a dead calm, while the track was in faultless order. In the open-quarter handicap, with a field of excellent sprinters, he had to yield starts ranging to 32 yards, and the general impression was that he would not be placed. The pace was forced from the first, and at the 100-yard post the men were all in a bunch. The finish was most exciting, but Cross, having undoubtedly the best position, on the outside, won by half a yard. The time was 49 2-5s., which is the fastest ever made by an Englishman over a level track.

In the other events, L. H. Stubbs and C. A. Pease displayed good form, the former winning the 100, the 120-yards handicap and the long jump, while Pease easily took the half-mile handicap and mile.

* * * * *

~The~ Inter-Varsity hare-and-hounds between Oxford and Cambridge was run, November 30, over an eight-mile course at Oxford in a pouring rain. There were two hares and five hounds for each university. Pollock-Hill, Oxford, took the lead at once and maintained it throughout, finishing with a lead of a hundred yards in 47m. 52s. The race resulted in favor of the Light Blue by 13 points, the scores being--Oxford 21 and Cambridge 34. Of the nine contests which have taken place, Cambridge has won seven to Oxford’s two.

* * * * *

~Measurements~ taken by Dr. Seaver, last fall, of the Freshman class at Yale show that the physical development of the 326 men, taken as a whole, is very good. These measurements are of young men from almost every State in the Union, and may be looked upon as fairly representative of the class of men who enter college, and will, with some few exceptions, be applicable to the other large colleges as well. Except in particular cases, there is a noticeable absence of over or under developed men in the class of ’92. The tallest man is 6 ft. 2 4-5 in., the shortest 4 ft. 9 5-8 in. The oldest is 26 years 2 months, the youngest 14 years 10 months (an exceptionally youthful age). The heaviest member of the class weighs 200 and the lightest 86½, pounds. Only 17 per cent. of the academic Freshmen use tobacco, and 25 per cent. of the students in the Scientific School.

BASEBALL.

~Keefe~, the great pitcher, will coach the Amherst nine during the season.

* * * * *

~Regarding~ the prospects of the Yale nine for the coming season, it is said that Stagg has absolutely refused to play. Dalzell, change pitcher of last year’s nine, is showing great promise, however. Dann has left college. With a new battery, it remains to be seen whether Yale can retain the championship which she has held for three successive years.

* * * * *

~The~ University of New York will attempt to put a first-class ball nine in the field in the spring.

* * * * *

~Baseball~ men at Princeton are somewhat handicapped in their practice by the loss of the cage which was blown down during the summer. The gymnasium is not suitably equipped for winter practice, and there is almost no opportunity for batting. King, ’89, the captain, will probably pitch; Brownlee, ’89, and Brokaw, ’92, are candidates for the position of catcher.

* * * * *

~The~ Athletic Committee of Harvard University has granted the two petitions presented by Captain Willard in behalf of the members of the nine. The first petition was for the employment of a professional coach, and named for approval Mr. Clarkson of the Boston nine. The second petition was for permission to play practice games with professional teams. On the first petition the committee voted, “That the management of the nine be authorized to employ J. G. Clarkson as coach for the season of 1888-9, to act in the gymnasium or on the athletic grounds of the university.”

* * * * *

~An~ effort is to be made to form a baseball league, which is to consist of Lafayette, Lehigh, Rutgers and Stevens.

* * * * *

~Madison~ University will attempt to join the New York State College League in the spring. To raise funds for the purpose, the students have resolved to give a series of concerts, the first of which was held Dec. 7, and netted $110.

BICYCLE.

~F. A. Elwell~, of Portland, Me., is arranging for a cyclists’ tour through Europe next summer. The pace will be an easy one, so that ample time will be given for sight-seeing. It is expected the party will reach home about the 1st of September, and the cost of the trip will be about $400 per capita. The party will be limited to twenty-five, and Ireland, England, France, Switzerland, Germany, Holland and Belgium will be visited.

* * * * *

~Last~ spring a bicycle was run into on Broad Street, Providence, R. I., by Patrick H. Collins, an expressman, who, according to the evidence, refused to pay any regard to the warning whistles of the rider. The wheelman’s hand was broken and his machine seriously damaged. Collins was convicted in the lower court of a violation of the law requiring him to drive reasonably to the right of the travelled centre of the highway, and took an appeal. A short time ago the Court of Appeals sustained the lower court, deciding that a bicycle is a vehicle, and entitled to all the protection afforded other vehicles.

* * * * *

~John S. Prince~ is to manage the bicycle department of the new Coliseum in Omaha, a building 300 by 170 feet, with a bicycle track 20 feet wide and 10 laps to the mile. The building will seat 10,000 people. A six-day race is being arranged. Inside of the cycle track is a horse track 17 feet wide.

* * * * *

~Chicago~ will have a six-day bicycle race next, and it will possibly take place in the Exposition building.

* * * * *

~Interest~ in wheeling matters has been on the increase in Cincinnati, and there is every prospect that the State meet will be held there in 1889.

* * * * *

~The~ Harvard-Technology road race was held Saturday, December 8, over a nine-mile course through the Newtons. The race was close and exciting, and resulted in a victory for Harvard. The start and finish were on Watertown street, Newton. Technology entered eight men and Harvard six, but only the first five men from each club were counted. The men finished in the following order:

1. Greenleaf, Harvard, 10 points. 2. Norton, Tech., 9 “ 3. Williston, Tech., 8 “ 4. Brown, Harvard, 7 “ 5. Barron, Harvard, 6 “ 6. Rogers, Harvard, 5 “ 7. Webster, Tech., 4 “ 8. Holmes, Harvard, 3 “ 9. Warner, Tech., 2 “ 10. Hutchins, Tech., 1 “

Total--Harvard, 31 points; Technology, 24 points. Officers of the race--Referee, R. H. Davis, of Harvard; judges, H. M. Waite and F. C. Jarecki, both of Technology.

Greenleaf’s time for the nine miles was 36 minutes 23 4-5 seconds, which is very fast considering the condition of the roads. Norton and Williston, of Technology, were very close to him at the finish. The others were some distance behind, owing to a delay at a railway crossing in West Newton. Bradly, of Technology, took a bad header near the finish and was unable to go on.

The banner subscribed by the clubs, jointly, now belongs to Harvard.

* * * * *

~At~ a meeting held December 13 by the Harvard Bicycle Club, the following motion was unanimously carried: “That the Harvard Bicycle Club challenge the Yale Bicycle Club to a road-race next June, immediately after the final examinations, leaving to Yale choice of distance and course; the number of competitors to be from five to ten. If Yale chooses a course at New Haven, they are to allow Harvard $8 per man towards the expenses; but if a course near Cambridge is chosen, Harvard shall allow Yale $8 per man.”

If this plan is carried out it will add another to the list of championship contests between the two colleges, and a race like the one proposed will tend to lift bicycling from the comparatively insignificant place it now holds as a college sport.

CRICKET.

~The~ following cricket team, organized by Major Warton, left England for the Cape per s. s. _Garth Castle_:--Major Warton, Messrs. C. A. Smith, captain, M. P. Bowden, E. J. McMaster, B. A. F. Griese, J. H. Roberts, A. C. Skinner, and Hon. C. J. Coventry; Abel, Read, Briggs, Fothergill, Wood, and F. Hearne. Sir Donald Currie has presented a Challenge Cup, which is to be presented to the Colony, and will go to the team representing Griqualand West, Natal, the Transvaal, for Orange Free State, which makes the best approximate show against the English team. After that it will remain the subject of annual contest.

* * * * *

~The~ games scheduled for the Philadelphia cricket team, which will visit England next season, are as follows: July 2, 3, Trinity College; July 4, 5, Gentlemen of Ireland; July 8, 9, Gentlemen of Scotland; July 11, 12, Gentlemen of Liverpool; July 15, 16, Gentlemen of Gloucester; July 18, 19, Surrey; July 22, 23, M. C. C.; July 25, 26, Kent; July 29, 30, Hampshire; August 1, 2, United Service; August 5, 6, Sussex; August 8, 9, Oxford or Cambridge University.

* * * * *

~The~ Belmont Cricket Club, of Philadelphia, has elected these officers for 1889: President, John P. Green; vice-president, William L. Longstreth; clerk, James F. Fahnestock; corresponding secretary, Milton C. Work; treasurer, Henry W. Cattell, M.D. Board of directors, William Nelson West, J. Allison Scott, Clarence North, Joseph H. Rastall, W. N. Brown, William L. Longstreth.

CURLING.

~The~ Montreal branch of the Royal Caledonia Curling Club recently elected the following officers for the ensuing year: Messrs. David Brown, president; Geo. Brush, vice-president; Rev. James Williamson, secretary; Rev. James Barclay, chaplain.

* * * * *

~At~ the annual meeting of the Montreal Curling Club, on December 15, the election of officers resulted as follows: President, F. Stancliffe; vice-president, W. I. Fenwick; representative members, A. T. Paterson, James Williamson; chaplain, Rev. J. Williamson; treasurer, R. W. Crompton; secretary, E. L. Pease; committee of management, C. E. Smyth, C. W. Dean, R. W. Shepherd, Jr., D. Williamson, A. F. Riddell; skips, A. T. Paterson, R. W. Tyre, W. I. Fenwick, F. Stancliffe, D. Williamson, C. W. Dean, R. W. Shepherd, Jr., A. F. Riddell.

FENCING.

~A fencing~ club was formed at Harvard, December 13; Sig. Castroni will be the fencing-master, and the club has guaranteed him a salary which will be raised by paying fixed prices per lesson. Thirty-five men signed as charter members. The officers are E. P. Rawson, ’90, president; L. M. Greer, ’91, vice-president; F. T. Goodwin, ’89, secretary; J. S. Beecher, ’90, treasurer.

* * * * *

~An~ effort is being made at Columbia to form a fencing club. Many recent graduates are experts in this branch of sport, and would doubtless aid the scheme in every way.

FISHING AND SHOOTING.

~The~ Niagara County Anglers’ Club, a flourishing organization, is making an effort to secure greater uniformity in the present State fish and game laws. At a recent meeting a committee was appointed which will enter into correspondence with the various sporting clubs throughout the State, in order to learn their views regarding the advisability of the move. The Secretary of the Niagara County Anglers’ Club, Mr. W. H. Cross, may be addressed at Lockport, N. Y.

* * * * *

~The~ Michigan Fishing and Hunting Association is the title of a new organization of gentlemen just formed in Detroit, with a capital of $20,000 in 200 shares. One half the shares have already been taken. The association has already selected a site, and will shortly erect thereon a handsome edifice 80 × 60 feet, containing forty rooms, including billiard-rooms, ladies’ parlors, a large dance hall, kitchen, etc. It will be finely finished, and in every respect a model club-house. The cost will be between $6,000 and $7,000. The construction has been placed in the hands of the contractors, and is to be rapidly pushed to be in readiness for opening early in the season.

* * * * *

~The~ first move ever made for a systematic protection of fish and game in and about Barnegat Bay “is the organization of a corporation known as the Bounat Gunning and Fishing Association,” by a number of famous New Jersey gunners and fishermen. It will stock its preserves with both game and fish. The members favor only legitimate sport. Under its charter the association has the right to prosecute all pot-hunters who violate the New Jersey game laws. The club-house will be situated on Lazy Point, about fourteen miles below Barnegat Bay Inlet. Among the stockholders are ex-Congressman Charles Haight, Sheriff Fields, County Clerk Patterson and Surrogate Crater, all of Monmouth County; Thomas A. Ward, ex-Judge Morris, Robert Drummond and Harold E. Willard.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Mak-saw-ba Club of Chicago was held recently at the Sherman House. The following officers were elected for the year: President, R. B. Organ; vice-president, W. P. Mussey; treasurer, Joel A. Kinney; secretary, C. S. Petrie; board of managers, R. B. Organ, W. P. Mussey, T. B. Leiter, C. S. Petrie and W. H. Haskell. Among other business transacted, rules were passed requiring that shooting must cease at sunset and not begin until after sunrise; also forbidding the use of two guns in one boat and the use of rifles on the marsh. The club has decided to follow the example of the Tollestone Club, and distribute feed for the ducks during the season. The club is in a flourishing condition.

* * * * *

~The~ woodcock shooting season ended in New Jersey December 1. Taken altogether it was a bad season. Birds were few. It is probable that the privilege of shooting woodcock in summer will be restored by the Legislature.

FOOTBALL.

~The~ convention of the Eastern Intercollegiate Football Association was held at Springfield, Mass., Friday, December 7. Delegates from Boston Technology, Dartmouth, Williams, Amherst, and Stevens Institute were present. The protest with regard to the Technology-Stevens game was considered, and the game was awarded to Technology. Inasmuch as Dartmouth and Technology tied for first place, no championship was awarded, but a resolution was passed that in case of a tie in the future, the winners of the previous year should retain the championship. The following officers were elected for the ensuing year: President, W. Merrill, of Technology; vice-president, M. H. Beecher, of Dartmouth; secretary, R. A. Hopkins, of Williams; treasurer, A. Smith, of Amherst.

* * * * *

~A recent~ alumnus, in a letter to the _Princetonian_, advocates the appointment of professional umpires in football as the only way of securing fair decisions. He suggests Mr. Edward Plummer and Mr. George Goldie as men who would acceptably fill the position.

* * * * *

~Students~ at the University of California, Berkeley, Cal., enjoy the good fortune of being able to play football during the winter. Chas. Thompson, ’89, has been chosen captain of the team, and close and interesting games may be looked for with neighboring clubs.

* * * * *

~William Odlin~, ’90, has been chosen captain of the Dartmouth Football Team for the next season. M. H. Beacham, ’90, was elected manager, and A. H. Baehr, ’90, president of the association.

* * * * *

~A game~ took place between the universities of Cambridge and Edinburgh, December 6, at Cambridge. The visitors won the match last year, but the same fortune did not attend them this time, as they were defeated by the Light Blue by one goal to two tries. The game was, however, a closely contested one, and in the first half Edinburgh had the advantage. Failure to kick goals from tries may be said to be the cause for defeat.

* * * * *

~Four~ Rugby football teams from Montreal played at Ottawa on Thanksgiving Day. The following is the result of the matches: McGill College Medicos defeated Ottawa College second fifteen by 16 to 1; Montreal second fifteen defeated Ottawa City second fifteen by 6 to 0.

* * * * *

~The~ match on the Metropolitan grounds between the Britannias of Montreal and the Atlantic City team, resulted in a victory for the former by 11 points to 2.

* * * * *

~The~ match for the championship of the Dominion, November 29, between the Montreal first fifteen, champions of the Province of Quebec, and Ottawa College first fifteen, champions of Ontario, was a draw; neither side scored a point. The match was a series of scrimmages from beginning to end. The teams were as follows: _Montreal_--Backs, J. D. Campbell (captain), A. A. Hodgson; half, A. S. Browne, A. E. Abbott; quarter, H. Cleghorn; forwards, R. Campbell, P. Barton, F. W. Taylor, Edward Black, A. L. Drummond; F. Matthewson, A. G. Fry, A. D. Fry, J. Louson and G. Geo. Baird; field captain, J. J. Arnton. _Ottawa College_--Back, F. Devine; half-backs, M. Cormier and J. Murphy; quarters, M. Guillet and W. F. Kehoe; forwards, A. Hillman, O. Labrecque, P. O’Brien, M. McDonald, J. Curran, D. McDonald, C. Fitzpatrick, P. Chatlin, D. McDonald and W. McAullay; field captain, M. F. Fallon. Referee--J. Rankin, Queen’s College, Kingston.

HOCKEY.

~The~ annual meeting of the Canadian Amateur Hockey Association was held in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on November 16. Representatives from most of the hockey clubs were present. The election for the ensuing year resulted as follows: President, Mr. J. Stewart; first vice-president, A. Shearer; second vice-president, D. B. Holden; secretary-treasurer A. Hodgson. Council--H. Kinghorn (McGill), S. Lee (Crystal), T. Arnton (Victoria), A. G. Higginson (Montreal).

* * * * *

~The~ first match of the season, for seven gold medals, was played in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on December 15, between the Victorias and the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association team. The teams were as follows:

M. A. A. A. POSITION. VICTORIA.

Paton Goal J. Arnton Stuart Point T. Arnton Cameron Cover point J. Campbell Hodgson { } E. Barlow Lowe { } J. Kinghorn McNaughton { Forwards } A. Elliott Findlay { } B. Waud Umpires--Messrs. Wardlow and Black. Referee--Mr. Crathern.

Summary of the games:

First game, M.A.A.A. Lowe 5 mins. Second game, Victorias Kinghorn 2 mins. Third game, M.A.A.A. McNaughton 8 mins. Fourth game, M.A.A.A. Lowe 26 mins.

LACROSSE.

~For~ the first time in the history of Harvard lacrosse, the candidates for the teams have had regular practice in the fall. The prospects of the ’varsity and freshman teams are good. Seven men of last year’s ’varsity team will probably be on next year’s team. The other positions will have to be filled by men whose acquaintance with the lacrosse stick is limited.

* * * * *

~Students~ at Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J., are developing a liking for lacrosse, and the prospects of a representative team this season are good.

* * * * *

~It~ is stated on good authority that the Lacrosse Club of the University of the City of New York, which has been in existence for many years, will be allowed to die. Its place will probably be taken by the club at the New York College, which is somewhat better off regarding practice grounds and student support.

* * * * *

~The~ Detroit Lacrosse Club suggests that an International League be formed, taking in Detroit, Windsor, Chatham and some Michigan towns.

PEDESTRIANISM.

~The~ gross receipts of the last professional six-days’ walking match, which ended in Madison Square Garden December 1, netted $19,316.50. Of this the management received fifty per cent. and the balance went to the contestants, to be divided proportionately among them. The score at the finish was:

Miles. Yds.

Littlewood 623 1,320 Herty 609 ---- Moore 553 1,100 Cartwright 546 ---- Noremac 442 440 Hart 539 1,100 Howarth 536 440 Connor 536 ---- Golden 534 440 Mason 528 660 Taylor 450 880 Campana 450 220 Elson 421 1,540 Peach 262 880 C. Smith 201 1,540

RACQUETS.

~Several~ exciting contests at racquets took place at the New York Racquet Club courts last December, a feature of which was a match for the professional championship of America between Albert Wright, the leading marker of the New York Club, and the English player, Boaker, the principal marker of the Quebec Racquet Club. In some preliminary practice games, in which Boaker gave odds to Robert Moore--the other marker of the New York Club--the latter had the best of it; but in the games for the championship, Boaker bore off the honors, as will be seen by the appended score:

Boaker 15 15 12 13 10 15 15--Total aces 95 Wright 10 4 15 18 15 7 8--Total aces 77

Total aces by service, Boaker 13, Wright 17. Time of game, 1 hour 17 minutes.

Referee, Mr. Lawrence Perkins. Scorer, Mr. Stewart. Umpire for Boaker, Mr. E. W. Jewett. Umpire for Wright, Mr. Paul Dana. Marker, Robert Moore.

In the first two games Boaker showed marked superiority in play, but in the next three games Wright pluckily rallied and took the lead. The fourth game was the most closely contested of all, the score standing at 13 all at the end of the seventeenth innings. Then Boaker set the game at 5, and Moore won by 5 to 0, making a total of 18 aces to 13. In the sixth and seventh games Boaker showed his superiority in strategic play, and he finally came in victor in four out of the seven games played. It was the best exhibition of racquet playing seen at the court during the year. The match took place December 8.

RIFLE AND TRAP SHOOTING.

~Al. Bandle~, of Cincinnati, and Rollie O. Heikes, of Dayton, Ohio, shot a match at live pigeons at the Fair Grounds, Dayton, Nov. 29. The conditions of match were 100 live birds, 30 yards rise, Hurlingham rules, for a stake of $250 a side. There were over 2,000 people present. Promptly at two o’clock the match was called. Mr. George Wells, of Covington, Ky., was chosen as referee. Owing to darkness the match was not finished, eight birds being left over until the following day. The scores were:

Killed. Missed. Total.

A. Bandle, first day 84 8 92 “ “ second day 8 0 8 -- -- --- 92 8 100

R. O. Heikes, first day 82 10 92 “ “ second day 5 3 8 -- -- --- 87 13 100

The second day the attendance was small, the day being cold, raw and cloudy. Heikes’ friends immediately challenged Bandle to a match for $500 a side, to be shot in Cincinnati Christmas Day, same conditions.

* * * * *

~The~ Second Gatling Battery, National Guard, New York, held a prize shoot at Creedmoor Thanksgiving Day. The Overton Medal was won by A. L. Klein.

The champions’ match for a $300 medal was won by Driver G. R. Kelly, W. B. Lowe, second, and S. D. Coborn, third. In the honorary members’ match Capt. A. H. Baker won 1st prize, C. J. Doran 2d. E. C. Webb won the revolver match; S. D. Coborn 2d, H. J. Jordan 3d. Prizes were also won by Capts. Nutt and Limberger, Lieut. Castell, Sergt. Yugman and Corp. Lennon. A banquet was served by Capt. Limberger after the shoot.

* * * * *

~Thanksgiving~ Day at Elkwood Park, near Long Branch, Miss Annie Oakley and Phil. Daly, Jr., shot a match at 50 live birds for a handsome gold badge; Mr. Daly shooting at fifty-five and Miss Oakley at fifty birds. Mr. Daly won, missing but seven birds, Miss Oakley missing 8. There was a large crowd to witness the shooting.

* * * * *

~A new~ Gun Club has been formed at Topeka, Kansas. It had a shoot Thanksgiving Day, using Peoria blackbirds.

* * * * *

~At~ Arlington, Md., Nov. 29, Wm. Graham and H. Capron shot a match at 25 live birds for $50 a side. The conditions were: 25 birds each, Graham standing at 28 yards rise, and using a 12-gauge gun, with one hand only; Capron standing at 30 yards, using a 10-gauge, with both hands. Hurlingham rules. E. C. Hall, referee. The match resulted in a tie, as follows:

W. Graham 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 24 H. Capron 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 24

The tie was then shot off, and resulted as follows;

Graham 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 11 Capron 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 8

Graham won the match.

* * * * *

~At~ Troy, Kansas, November 27, Dr. Dinsmore, with a 32-40, 185 calibre rifle, did some fine shooting at 500 yards. The score in detail was: 5, 5, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5--48; 5, 5, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5--49; total, 97 out of a possible 100 points. This, with so small a calibre as a 32, is extraordinarily fine work. In fact it would be considered fine with any kind of a rifle. The Doctor also shot a fine score with the same rifle off-hand, at 200 yards, his scores being: 78, 85, 88, 82, 88--421--possible 500 points.

* * * * *

~W. W. Bennett~, on Thanksgiving Day, at Walnut Hill, made the following scores at 50 yards on the standard target with revolver: 92, 92, 89--273; and on December 1, made the following scores, same conditions: 94, 89, 89, 89, 89--450.

* * * * *

~At~ the Southern California Trap Tournament, held at Riverside, Cal., Mr. M. Chick, of San Diego, won the Selby champion medal for the third time against all comers in Southern California--killing 88 out of a possible 100; 50 single and 25 double rises. During the meeting Mr. Chick shot at 160 blue-rocks and broke 148.

* * * * *

~The~ Wichita, Kansas, Trap Tournament was held under very adverse circumstances, the weather being very disagreeable. Some fine shooting was done by Messrs. Stancer, Swiggett, Brown and Smyth. Mr. Stancer shot at 396 and killed 358, only missing 38, which is an exceptionally fine record.

* * * * *

~The~ contest for the Standard gold medal at Cleveland, Ohio, between the West End, Rockford and Locksley gun clubs, resulted in a victory for the West End Club, the total scores being: West End, 171; Rockford, 158; Locksley, 145. The medal has to be won three times before it becomes the property of either club, and until won, the highest score on the winning team wears it. The same day the West End Club held their badge shoot, which was won by Mr. W. Bell, who also wears the Standard badge for three months.

* * * * *

~There~ were about 200 present to witness the match at Starr’s Driving Park, Baltimore, Md., between Mr. Fred Kell, of Baltimore, and Mr. W. Graham, the Englishman. Graham held one hand behind him. The match was for $100 a side. It resulted as follows: Fred Kell, 20; Wm. Graham, 20. The conditions were twenty-five birds. The twenty-second bird of Graham’s was lost through his going to the trap with his gun unloaded, and calling pull, which cost him the match.

* * * * *

~The~ Rod and Gun Rifle Club of Springfield, Mass., paid a friendly visit, by invitation, to the Broad Brook, Ct., Rifle Club, recently. A very enjoyable day was spent at the targets and also at the dinner table. The Broad Brook Club will visit Springfield at an early date.

* * * * *

~The~ celebrated Zettler Rifle Club, of New York City, have a champion medal. Captain B. Walther won it the second time with 115 out of a possible 120.

* * * * *

~At~ Walnut Hill, Boston, Mass., a short time ago, Mr. J. B. Fellows, the well-known amateur rifle and pistol shot, made the following scores at 50 yards with a 22-calibre pistol: 93, 92, 90, 88, 93--456. Mr. W. W. Bennett holds the professional record for same distance with a total of 470 points.

* * * * *

~Major James P. Frost~, Brigade Inspector of Rifle Practice, M. V. M., has obtained permission to organize a rifle team from the Massachusetts State troops to go to Europe next summer to compete against teams across the ocean. It is proposed to leave about the middle of June, and to be gone a month or six weeks.

* * * * *

~The~ Schuetzen-Verein, of San Antonio, Texas, held their tournament in November. The prizes aggregated in value $642. In the off-hand team contest the winners were:

San Antonia S. V., score 350, $17; Cuero Rifle Club, 326, $10.20; San Antonio Rifle and Gun Club, 308, $6.80.

In the Individual contest the winners were:

Ed Steves, Jr., 93; S. V. Pfeuffer, 92; Alois Altmann, 87; Ern Seffel, 86; Earnest Steves, 86; G. Altmann, 84; W. J. Suter, 84; A. Steves, 84; A. Holeyapfel, 84; R. Krause, 84; L. Simon, 83; P. Nulm, 83; E. Gruene, 83; F. Scholl, 83; I. P. Samer, 82; O. Forcke, 82; Chas. Hummel, 82; A. Altmann, 81; W. Forcke, 81; H. Faust, 80; Ad. Wendler, 80; Dr. A. Herff, 79; H. Arnold, 78; J. Muschel, 78; A. Guenther, 78; Ed. Mittendorf, 78; T. Herff, 77; H. O. Journeay, 77; E. Dosch, 77; H. Vanseckel, 75; H. Clemens, 75; H. L. Fowler, 74.

There were 94 individual riflemen who took part in this contest. The conditions were, 5 shots at 150 yards, muzzle rest, and 5 shots at 250 yards, standard target.

* * * * *

~At~ the last meeting of the Houston, Texas, Schuetzen-Verein the following scores were made at 200 yards, three shots at rest, possible 30: W. Kamin, 27 points won at 117 yards, off-hand, two shots, possible 30; W. Keiler, 29; O. Erichson, 29.

* * * * *

~The~ American Field Championship Cup, won by L. S. Carter, is a magnificent piece of work. It was to have cost originally $200; but the artist elaborated his designs, so that $300 will be nearer the figure.

* * * * *

~A friendly~ rifle match was shot at Troy, Kansas, between Dr. R. S. Dinsmore, of Troy, and Dr. G. I. Royce, of Topeka. Both used Dr. Dinsmore’s rifle. The scores were: Dr. Dinsmore, 78, 78, 79, 77, 80--392; Dr. Royce, 72, 70, 76, 76, 74, 76--368.

* * * * *

~Company G.~, California National Guard, is considered the crack rifle company in the State. At the late State shoot 43 men made 1,488 points out of 2,150.

* * * * *

~Mr. J. A. Huggins~, of Pittsburgh, Penn., made in a rifle match at 200 yards, off-hand, with a 32-calibre rifle, within the rules of the N. R. A., the unprecedented score of 440 points out of a possible 500 in 50 shots. The same day he also made 436, same conditions. These scores beat all previous records, being the record for 50 and 100 shots. The American standard (Hinman) off-hand target was used.

* * * * *

~Officers~ of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals stopped a rabbit coursing meeting that was in progress at Hempstead, L. I. There were over 100 visitors present, among them Mr. and Mrs. S. D. Ripley, Mr. and Mrs. A. Belmont, Jr., Mrs. S. S. Sands, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, Mrs. Dodge, Miss Morgan and Miss Bird.

Mr. A. Belmont, Jr., had expended a great deal of time and money to make the meeting a success. The following gentlemen appeared before Squire Clowes: A. Belmont, Jr., Theo. Rutherford Beach, John Doty, William Reardon. They were charged with wilfully, unlawfully, wickedly and unjustifiably mutilating and killing an animal. The trial was set for the following Friday, when the court room was crowded. The jury returned a verdict of not guilty, and there was a great outburst of applause when the verdict was announced.

It is to be hoped that Mr. Bergh will see that to follow in the footprints of his late uncle in all things is not the proper thing. No one will assist him more than the true sportsman. But for him to array himself against the legions of true sportsmen is sheer folly, as he will do himself and the cause he represents more harm than good. If such sport can be stopped it is hard to say where it will stop.

* * * * *

~Pistol~ and revolver shooting is having quite a boom throughout the country. At St. Louis, recently, some fine shooting with a pistol has been done, Mr. L. V. D. Perrett making the following scores at 50 yards on a Standard American target: 87, 85, 87, 83, 86, 82, 91, 86, 80, 87--854.

* * * * *

~The~ Miller Rifle Club of Hoboken, N. J., and Our Own Rifle Club of Newark, had a match at the Miller’s quarters, Hoboken, recently. The target used was the Zettler ring. The scores were: Our Own Rifle Club, 2,380; Miller Rifle Club, 2,356.

* * * * *

~Mr. E. C. Mohrstadt~ won the handsome gold medal of the St. Louis Pistol Club, with the good average of 81-4--11; Fred A. Todde second, with 80-8--13; W. Bauer third. Mr. Bauer made the highest single score of 93 points out of possible 100. They will hold a tournament July 15-19, 1889, when $700 will be offered in prizes.

* * * * *

~At~ Dover, N. H., November 29, the following scores were made at 200 yards off-hand, with match rifles: H. M. Wiggan, 100 shots, 82, 89, 82, 80, 81, 87, 80, 88, 79, 73--821; J. B. Stevens, Jr., 90 shots, 73, 82, 73, 80, 78, 67, 77, 80, 78--697; G. H. Wentworth, 60 shots, 86, 91, 79, 88, 84, 92--520.

* * * * *

~The~ following were the best scores made by the Zettler Rifle Club, December 11, 10 shots each, gallery target and distance: G. Zimmerman, 115; L. Flach, 115; M. B. Engel, 115; F. Lindkloster, 114; J. H. Brown, 113; A. Bertrandt, 113.

* * * * *

~A team~ match was shot December 1, at Springfield, N. J., between teams captained by E. D. Miller and C. Johnson; teams of three men, 50 clay pigeons each. The scores were: Miller’s team--E. Miller, 43; A. Sickly, 43; W. Sopher, 38--123. Johnson’s team--C. Johnson, 39; I. M. Roll, 40; D. Conover, 34--112.

* * * * *

~The~ Williamsburgh Schuetzen Gesellschaft elected these officers at their annual meeting: Captain, Charles Horney; first lieutenant, Geb. Krauss; second lieutenant, A. Hoffman; secretary, J. Richards; treasurer, K. Sohleich; first shooting-master, G. Kleinbut; second shooting-master, W. Horney.

ROWING.

~The~ first intercolonial university eight-oared race was rowed October 6, on the Lower Yarra course, from Humbug Beach to the Gasworks, a course of about two miles and a half in length. The universities represented were Sidney, Adelaide, and Melbourne. Sidney struck the water first, but Melbourne and Adelaide dashed off with the lead, the former at 38, and Adelaide rowing at 39. The latter’s coxswain steered badly at first. Melbourne gradually went to the front, reaching the winning post first in 13m 5s., Adelaide four lengths to the bad, and Sidney about six lengths further behind.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Fairmount Rowing Club of Philadelphia was held last month. The election resulted as follows: President, E. B. Pyfer; vice-president, J. W. Harrison; corresponding secretary, J. Watermeyer; financial secretary, L. C. Moore; treasurer, C. Pressendanz; captain, G. W. Mitchell; Coxswain, C. Tierney; directors, W. Brownell, E. F. Brownell, C. Pressendanz, N. C. Upton.

* * * * *

~The~ Vesper Boat Club of Philadelphia at its annual election selected the following officers: President, A. R. Parsons; vice-president, H. Thomas; treasurer, C. F. Grim; recording secretary, B. Hooley; corresponding secretary, G. King; Captain, G. S. James; first lieutenant, G. Hooley; second lieutenant, J. Hutchinson; third lieutenant, H. W. Mende; house committee, J. Leibert, T. Park; inquiry committee, F. Munson, G. Hooley, H. Thomas; naval delegate board, A. R. Parsons; financial committee, A. F. Cottingham, J. Hutchison and G. Hooley. The club is flourishing.

* * * * *

~The~ Mystic Boat Club of Newark, N. J., elected the following officers for the year: President, H. M. Darcy; secretary, F. W. Mercer; captain, F. H. Glaze; lieutenant, A. J. Barclie; trustees, E. H. Osborne, C. L. Winters, F. Barclie, S. Depue and S. Durand.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the Manayunk, Penn., Rowing Association resulted in the election of the following officers: President, J. A. Maguire; vice-president, G. Martin; secretary, F. Wall; treasurer, F. Milon; steward, M. McLaughlin; captain, J. W. Caffrey; lieutenant, P. W. Maxwell; directors, G. Martin, G. Cassidy, F. Milon, J. Wall and M. McLaughlin.

* * * * *

~All~ previous individual mileage records of the Minnesota Boat Club have been beaten by Mr. Herbert W. Brown, who rowed 1,135 miles during the season of 1888 just closed.

* * * * *

~The~ Dauntless Rowing Club elected the following board of officers for the present year: President, J. H. Redfield; first vice-president, T. H. Froehlich; second vice-president, Chas. M. Hall, Jr.; secretary, E. H. Anderson; treasurer, L. M. Edgar; captain, M. F. Connell; first lieutenant, F. S. Polo; second lieutenant, C. A. McIntyre; trustees, W. F. Bacon, J. J. Duff and F. F. Burke.

* * * * *

~At~ the annual meeting of the Catlin Boat Club of Chicago the following officers were elected: President, Charles Catlin; vice-president, Harry A. Cronin; secretary and treasurer, T. P. Hallinan; lieutenant, James McCormick; captain and trainer, Charles Goff. The president and vice-president were elected as delegates to the Mississippi Valley Rowing Association, and Messrs. Harris, Huehl and T. W. Reading were chosen as delegates to the Chicago Navy. The Catlin Boat Club is in a prosperous condition, having a membership of forty.

* * * * *

~The~ Yale Freshmen have challenged the Harvard Freshmen to an eight-oared two-mile straightaway race, to be rowed at New London next June. For several years the Yale Freshmen crews have challenged the Harvard Freshmen, but the latter have persistently declined, fearing that it would develop material for the Yale University boat. There is little prospect that Harvard will change her policy toward Yale.

* * * * *

~Both~ the Yale and Harvard crews have begun systematic training, which will increase in severity as the season advances. Much is expected by Harvard men of the tank, which has lately been completed, and which will put them on an equal footing with Yale in the matter of preliminary training.

* * * * *

~Much~ interest has been aroused among college men by reports that a race had been arranged between Cambridge, Eng., and Yale, to be rowed April 14. At Yale it is said that no negotiations had been begun with Cambridge, but something would undoubtedly be done to bring about a race. The date announced, April 17, is out of the question, inasmuch as the severe winter prevents all outdoor practice. The time best suited to the rowing men here would be during the long vacation. But that might not suit the Englishmen. Altogether it will be a hard matter to arrange a race which will be fair to both contestants.

* * * * *

~Intercollegiate~ boating has received an added impetus by the decision of Cornell, Columbia, and the University of Pennsylvania, to row an annual race at New London about the same time as the other ’Varsity races. The plan was originated by Columbia, and on December 12, E. Klapp, representing Columbia, met T. G. Hunter, of the University of Pennsylvania, and C. G. Psotta, of Cornell, at Philadelphia, and an agreement was drawn up and signed by the three representatives, stipulating for an annual three-mile race between eight-oared crews with coxswains, to be held between June 10 and 25, on the Thames at New London, the exact date to be named on or before April 1. Columbia has also been invited to contest for the “Childs’ Cup” with Cornell and the University of Pennsylvania, but will probably decline, because great extra expense would be involved. The Harvard-Columbia race will be rowed this year as usual, as it was only set aside last year by the consent of both colleges.

SKATING.

~The~ National Amateur Skating Association of the United States held its annual meeting last December, and elected the following officers for 1889: President, G. L. M. Sacks, M. A. C.; vice-president, Gus C. Walton, N. Y. A. C.; secretary, S. J. Montgomery; treasurer, J. B. Story; captain, W. B. Curtis; first lieutenant, G. D. Phillips; second lieutenant, H. M. Banks, Jr.

The association announced its determination to hold its fourth annual amateur championship meeting in the vicinity of New York City, Jan. 17, and following days. The programme was as follows:

Jan. 17.--220-yards and 5-mile races.

Jan. 18.--1-mile and 10-mile races.

Jan. 19.--Figure skating.

This is what is now arranged and intended, but as the association has no control over wind and weather, it cannot guarantee a strict execution of its programme. The committee can only say they will endeavor to give the contests as above announced. If on either of the announced days no good ice can be found, the whole programme will be postponed from day to day until there is good ice.

The events open to the amateur skaters of the world are: Figure skating, 220-yards, 1-mile, 5-mile and 10-mile races. Gold medal to first, silver medal to second, and bronze medal to third in each contest. Entrance-fee, $1 for each man for each event. Skaters unknown to the committee must submit satisfactory proof of their amateur standing. Entries closed Monday, Jan. 14, to S. J. Montgomery, Secretary National Amateur Skating Association, P. O. Box 938, New York City.

It is also probable that there will be special races at quarter-mile and half-mile for prizes offered by president and vice-president.

The following is the programme of the association for figure skating contest. The object of this programme is to set forth the movements of figure-skating so as best to test the proficiency of skaters, and in an order that will economize the strength of the contestants. The movements are arranged under comprehensive, fundamental heads, designed to include everything appertaining to the art. It is to be understood that whenever practicable all movements are to be executed both forward and backward, on right foot and on left. It should be continually borne in mind that _grace_ is the most desirable attribute of artistic skating.

1. Plain forward and backward skating.

2. “Lap foot”--as field step and in cutting circle.

3. Outside edge roll, forward.

4. Outside edge roll, backward.

5. Inside edge roll, forward.

6. Inside edge roll, backward.

7. Figure eight on one foot, forward.

8. Figure eight on one foot, backward.

9. Cross roll, forward.

10. Cross roll, backward.

11. Change of edge roll, forward--commencing either on outside or inside edge.

12. Change of edge roll, backward--beginning either on outside or inside edge.

13. (_a_) “On to Richmond;” (_b_) reverse “On to Richmond.”

14. (_a_) “Locomotives,” forward, backward, side-ways--single and double; (_b_) waltz step (not to be done on the point of the skate).

15. Spread eagles, inside and outside edges.

16. Curvilinear angles; (_a_) single, double, chain, and flying threes, beginning on inside or outside edge; (_b_) turns from outside edge to outside edge, or from inside edge to inside edge, forward and backward.

17. Grapevines, including “Philadelphia twist,” etc.

18. Toe and heel movements, embracing pivot circling, toe spins (_pirouettes_), and movements on both toes, etc.

19. Single flat-foot spins and double-foot whirls.

20. (_a_) Serpentines on one foot and on both feet; (_b_) change of edge, single and double.

21. Loops and ringlets on inside and outside edges, simple and in combination.

22. Display of complex movements, at the option of the contestant.

23. Specialties, embracing _original_ and _peculiar_ movements.

* * * * *

~The~ Canadian Amateur Skating Association held their second annual meeting in the Victoria Rink, Montreal, on Nov. 21st, and elected the following officers for the ensuing season: President, Lieut.-Col. Fred Henshaw; first vice-president, Mr. G. Geddes, Toronto; second vice-president, Mr. H. V. Meredith; third vice-president, Mr. L. Pereira, Ottawa; secretary-treasurer, Mr. A. E. Stevenson; council, H. M. Allan, W. G. Ross, J. A. Taylor, J. A. Findlay, F. M. Larmouth, W. D. Aird, L. Rubenstein, R. A. Elliott, F. W. Barlow.

* * * * *

~A race~ for the half-mile skating championship of the world took place at Amsterdam, Holland, on January 8, between Joseph F. Donoghue, of Newburgh, N. Y., and Alexander Von Panschin, of St. Petersburg, Russia. Donoghue fell during the race and Von Panschin won; time, 1 min. 25 3-5 sec. Donoghue afterwards skated over the course against time and covered the half-mile in 1 min. 27 2-5 sec. The next day, January 9, Von Panschin won the one-mile race also. His time was 2 min. 59 sec. The American champion, Donoghue, was second, his time for the mile being exactly three minutes. G. Smart, of England, won the one-mile international professional handicap in 3 min. 9 sec.

SNOW-SHOEING.

~Le Canadian~ Snow-shoe Club, of Montreal, have elected the following officers: President, J. A. St. Julien; first vice-president, E. J. Bedard; second vice-president, Alf. Lussier; secretary, C. O. Lapierre; assistant secretary, W. Pilotte; treasurer, J. E. Clement; committee, L. N. Moreau, A. W. Beauclaire, N. Malette and H. Blanchard. The club decided to hold weekly tramps to Cote des Neiges.

THE KENNEL.

~New York~ (the Westminster Kennel Club) is out with its premium list for its February show. The prizes offered for the dogs in the large dog classes are $20 to first, $10 to second, $5 to third and the club’s medal to fourth. The next grade of classes get $10 to first, $5 to second and medal to third. The specials are valuable, and include the mastiff club cups, valued at $600; the St. Bernard club cups, valued at $140; the kennel prizes of $25 each for the best kennel of four of each of the following breeds: Pointers, mastiffs, St. Bernards, bloodhounds, deer-hounds, greyhounds, foxhounds, hunting-spaniels, beagles and English setters, Irish setters, black-and-tan setters and collies. The inducements are great to exhibitors, and the show bids fair to be as well attended and as successful as heretofore.

* * * * *

~The~ committee of the American Kennel Club held a meeting December 28, 1888, and decided upon the following matters, which are herewith printed for the benefit of the readers of ~Outing~:

1. The American Kennel Club Stud Book, after the completion of the present volume, will be issued annually, will contain a full index, and will be published bound in cloth.

2. Numbers will be assigned upon the receipt of each entry, and will be published monthly in the _American Kennel Gazette_.

3. Registry in the stud book can be made _only_ upon the following conditions:

1. Where sire and dam are already registered or are directly descended from dogs already registered in said book.

2. Where dogs possess an authenticated pedigree, extended back three generations.

3. Where dogs (not eligible under the provisions as above required) have won not less than two first prizes in the regular classes at any show recognized by the American Kennel Club.

4. All entries for the stud book will be published in the issue of the _American Kennel Gazette_ following the receipt of said entry to enable the correction of any errors that may appear.

5. The fee for entry in the stud book will remain as heretofore. Fifty cents for each dog entered.

6. All dogs shown at any show held by a member of the American Kennel Club, and not already registered in the stud book, _must_ be registered in the _American Kennel Gazette_, the fee for such entry will be twenty-five cents.

7. The _American Kennel Gazette_ will be published on the last Thursday of each and every month.

Yours truly, ~A. P. Vredenburgh~, Sec’y.

* * * * *

~The~ following is a list of the dog-show fixtures for February:

The first annual dog show of the Columbus Fancier’s Club, at Columbus, O., will be held at Columbus from February 5 to 8; Thomas R. Sparrow, secretary.

From February 7 to 12, the first annual show of the Hudson River Poultry, Dog and Pet Stock Association, will be held at Newburgh, N. Y. J. H. Drevenstedt, of Washington, N. J., is the secretary.

* * * * *

~The~ Detroit Kennel Club recently lost fifteen valuable dogs that had been raised for stock purposes by a strange epidemic, resembling pneumonia. Examination of the lungs of a number of the dogs was made soon after death, and they all bore evidence of the same disease that characterizes the lungs of human beings who have died from pneumonia. It seems from information received from different parts of the country that the mysterious malady is quite general, and not confined to any given section.

* * * * *

~The~ annual meeting of the New England Kennel Club was held recently at its rooms, Hamilton Place, Boston. In token of his long services to the club as treasurer, that pleasant gentleman and enthusiastic spaniel-man, W. O. Partridge, of Boston, was tendered a suitably engrossed testimonial by the club. The following officers were elected for 1889: President, F. B. Fay; vice-president, E. H. Moore; secretary, J. W. Newman; treasurer, Geo. A. Fletcher. Executive committee, the officers and J. E. Thayer, Jean Grosvenor, Frank M. Curtis, J. H. Long, Dr. J. G. W. Werner.

YACHTING.

~The~ Toronto Yacht Club and the Royal Canadian Yacht Club have decided to consolidate, and after May 15 next will be known only as the Royal Canadian Yacht Club.

The fusion of these two organizations will make the Royal Canadian one of the strongest yacht clubs in the world, with a membership of 650.

* * * * *

~Mr. C. D. Mosher~, of Amesbury, Mass., who built the phenomenal launch _Buzz_ last season, whose mile record is 2 min. 8 sec., is now designing a steam yacht twice the size of the _Buzz_, but on the same lines.

* * * * *

~Mr. S. Austin~, Jr., of Philadelphia, has purchased of Mr. Jacob Lorillard his yacht _Anita_. Mr. Austin paid $22,500 for the _Anita_, and Mr. Lorillard is now having designs made for his fiftieth yacht.

[Illustration:

Drawn by A. C. Corbould.

“ONE FAIR PURSUER GOES AT IT WHERE THE HUNTSMAN LEADS.”]

~Outing~.

~Vol. XIII.~ MARCH, 1889. ~No. 6.~

FOX-HUNTING.

A DAY IN THE SHIRES.

BY HENRY H. S. PEARSE (“PLANTAGENET”).

There is a touch of original barbarism in all field sports--at least that is what our critics say, and I am prepared to put aside all cause for controversy by admitting without hesitation that there is much truth in the charge. Nay, more, I am even disposed to know the very quality that squeamish sentimentalists condemn, and to regard the spirit of sport in its most ferocious outbursts as the very antithesis of cold-blooded, wanton cruelty.

If proof were required that the most typical hunting-men are not insensible to animal suffering, one need only point to their tender care for horses and hounds, with which they have bonds of sympathy utterly inexplicable to people who are not sportsmen. A keen, bold rider may gallop his horse to a standstill in the rapture of hot pursuit, or put him at an almost impossible leap, staking life and limb and neck of man and beast against the chance of holding a place in the first flight, but when that effort is over his hand will rival a woman’s in the tenderness of its caresses for the noble brute that has answered so generously to touch of whip or spur. This combination of fierce daring and feminine weakness has never been more elegantly expressed than in Whyte Melville’s stirring song, “The Place where the Old Horse Died.” The man who will jest at his own scars, and make light of a broken rib or a dislocated shoulder, can be moved to infinite pity for an injured hunter. But even if the capacity to greatly dare and stoically endure were only to be attained by the sacrifice of sympathy with animal suffering, it would, I fancy, be worth cultivating by any race in danger of overcivilization. Such qualities may be characteristic of original barbarism, but no nation has yet been able to find satisfactory substitutes for them. As tending to their development, there is no pursuit within reach of ordinary citizens in an old and populous country that can for a moment compare with the moving accidents of fox-hunting. Very few sportsmen, however, stand in need of this excuse for the passion that possesses them.

A defense of the chase on high moral grounds would sound to them very like cant, and a fox-hunter worthy of the name may well dispense with the services of an apologist. If there be any foreigner who believes that the sturdy manhood of Great Britain is in danger of being played out, let him make a tour of the rural districts of the island from November to March. Taking a map of ordinary scale, one cannot put his finger on any spot outside the densely peopled cities, between Land’s End and John O’Groats, and say, “Here is a place where the music of hounds is never heard!” Every county has its two or three, and some a dozen, packs of fox-hounds, hunting here up to the outskirts of busy towns surrounded by networks of railways, and there amid the stillness and silence of mighty mountain ranges far from “the madding crowd.” On rugged heights where no horse could find secure foothold, their loved bell-like chorus may be heard cleaving the thin air and echoing from rock to rock, with the accompaniment of shrill cheers from sturdy hillmen who follow on foot from morn to even-tide without sign of fatigue. These, however, are rather the by-ways of sport, and to make acquaintance with fox-hunting in its more conventional phases one must needs follow great Nimrod’s footsteps to the classic fields where Hugo Meynell, John Ward, Osbaldiston, Assheton Smith, Anstruther Thomson, and many other masters of woodcraft graduated. Not there will one find the science of hunting practiced in its highest development; but there, alone of all countries in the world, may one see the art of riding to hounds illustrated in every variety of style.

[Illustration: A FOXY VARMINT.]

To describe hound work, pure and simple, with the incidents of a long hunting run, I should have to take as my theme a fixture in some remote provincial hunt, where plough and pasture alternate with deep woodlands. A day with wild Jack Parker, of the Sinnington, and his trencher-fed pack, among Yorkshire dales; or with Mr. Lawrence’s half-bred Welch hounds in the coverts of Monmouthshire, or with any of the Devonshire fox-hounds, where open moors and densely wooded coombes are the haunts of foxes, wild as their native hills, would best illustrate the science of woodcraft, and all the minutiæ about which Beckford, Delmé, Radcliffe, and the author of “Notitia Venatica” discoursed so learnedly.

We might then begin with the earth-stopper, on his lonely midnight rounds in storms of snow or rain. Following the track of his ambling pony, and guided by the pale gleam of his lantern through the mists, we might watch him as he bent to work under the dripping twigs of bramble and hazel, or rolled a great stone into the mouth of some cavernous hole among a “clitter of rocks,” as they say in the west country. We might learn from him much concerning the dissipated habits of the red race--male members of which follow very much the customs of men about town, devoting their nights to feasting or flirtation and their days to rest and sleep. In regard to the latter, no bachelor of the Albany could be more fastidious in the choice of quarters. Should a belated worker find the door of his regular abode closed against him, he always knows where to seek cozy shelter in the warmest corner of a gorse covert, or the dry top-growth of a grassy hedgerow. In the spring-time, when his “fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,” he is apt to wander far from his familiar haunts and make his bed wherever the first flush of dawn lights on him. All these are habits of which the earth-stopper, in his nocturnal watches, takes careful note, and he knows the exact hour of every season when improvised doors should be stopped at night to keep the gay old dog out, or put to after daybreak to shut the vixen securely in.

[Illustration: THE ROAD-RIDING DIVISION.]

About such details as earth-stoppers and their duties, however, the merry sportsmen who throng the midland shires concern themselves only when a brilliant burst is brought to a premature end by the cunning fox slipping into a drain that has been overlooked. Hunting the dray of a wild rover from his midnight foraging grounds to some distant lair is also a tedious detail of woodcraft in which the Meltonian would disdain to take part, even if he could tear himself from his bed at the chill hour when our grandfathers’ sport began. There are not many countries nowadays so scantily stocked that this preliminary to a find need be resorted to, but in some very provincial corners of the land, and notably among Welsh mountains and Cumberland fells, the custom is still pursued. Fashionable midland fields would dwindle to very small proportions indeed if half a dozen coverts were drawn blank, and the ardor of thirsting youths would ooze away if they had to watch hounds patiently puzzling out a cold scent for an hour or two before the fun, fast and furious, began. Yet their languid regard for creature comforts is only a harmless affectation after all. The first note of horn or hound sends the hot blood tingling through their veins, and when once they have thrown off the cloak of conventional unconcern, it must be a formidable obstacle that can balk them, and a long run that takes the keen edge off their rivalry.

If we elect to throw in our lot with glorious Tom Firr and the Quorn; to meet Will Goodall with his Pytchley bitches at Weedon or Crick; Frank Gillard and his bright Belvoir tans at Piper Hole, where the “partickler purty landscape” of Belvoir Vale unfolds a pleasant prospect before us; or Gillson and the Cottesmore at Langham’s far-famed Ranksborough gorse, there will be nearly the same brilliant galaxy of sporting celebrities, only with a different setting. Let us make for ourselves, then, an imaginary fixture at some centre that is surrounded by the most characteristic features of all these favored countries, and watch the gay cavalcades from different points converge at the trysting-place.

A few farmers, well mounted, neatly attired in black coats and workmanlike cords, and bearing about them no visible signs of depression, are first to appear at the meet. Then follow rough-riders of the Dick Christian order, on raw young ones, qualifying for hunters’ certificates, or queer-tempered animals that need some schooling yet, though the season is far spent, and many a hard run ought to have taken the devil out of them. The Leicestershire rough-rider is _sui generis_, and his exact counterpart is not to be found in any other hunting country that I know of. Long training has made him amenable to every form of discipline exacted by the M. F. H., and he is never out of his proper place, no matter what other people may be doing. He betakes himself now to a quiet out-of-the-way corner where hounds are not likely to come within reach of his restive horse’s heels, and whenever the rush for a start may begin, he will display marvelous tact in getting clear of the ruck to cut out a line for himself. His nether limbs have been battered out of all shapeliness by frequent fractures, so that he seems to have no grip of the saddle, and his hands look too rigid to yield the fraction of an inch in play; but somehow he has the knack of sitting like a jackanapes, never off, and he can squeeze the veriest jade over a stiff line of country.

There is a blaze of scarlet along the lane yonder, and flashes of white between the thorn fences as the hounds are brought up, followed by groups of gorgeously arrayed gallants. The huntsman and his whips are turned out in the perfection of neatness, their breeches spotless, and every item of equipment scrupulously bright. The twenty couples of hounds have the glossy bloom of faultless condition, as if this were only the beginning instead of the fag end of a hard season. And now the throng grows denser every minute. The master threads his way through a maze of vehicles and a mass of horsemen, exchanging courteous greetings with friends or strangers alike. Four-in-hands, tandems, and smart buggies come in quick succession to choke the crowded highway. Covert-hacks are dexterously exchanged for hunters. Fair damsels throw aside wraps and newmarkets to appear in all the bewitching simplicity of dainty habits, or the more pronounced combinations of masculine cut, with open coats, snowy vests, folded cravats, masher collars, and all the latest triumphs of sartorial ingenuity. There is mounting in hot haste, for the word has been given to draw a favorite gorse brake not two miles away, and that is a sure find. The February sun-shine is screened by soft clouds, “the wind in the east most forbiddingly keen,” and all the conditions favorable to a brilliant run, if only a stout traveler can be induced to lead pursuers across the fair pastures that stretch far away to a hazy line of coverts yonder. The keen-faced huntsman, lithe, wiry and active as a boy yet, gets his hounds through the thicket of restless heels with quiet coolness which no confusion can ruffle. Then begins an eager rush for short cuts to the covert-side, only restrained by the master’s imperative “Hold hard, gentlemen! Let hounds go first, if you please.” A Yorkshire dealer, who has been extolling the young horse he bestrides as a wonderful fencer who does not “jump from here to there, but from here to yonder,” begins looking already by way of putting these exceptional leaping powers to the proof, but he will have quite enough of that in the legitimate course of things before the day is over.

[Illustration: “IT IS THE HORSE IN AND THE MAN ON THE RIGHT SIDE.”]

At length the foremost squadrons are marshaled quietly, in compact order, beside a five-acre brake--all keeping a little down wind so that the fox may be forced to break covert towards that inviting stretch of verdant pastures with its heavy thorn fences, tall bullfinches, stiff oxen and gleaming brook, brimful from recent rains. If kindly fortune should take us that way, how soon the field will be squandered, the faint-hearted follower stopped, and the reckless brought to grief! There is little danger that hounds will chop their fox before he can get well away. He must be a sound sleeper indeed if the tramp of five hundred horses and the voices of his foes have not roused him to alert

## action before our huntsman’s “Loo in yoi, wind him, bo-oys!” gives

peremptory notice to quit.

[Illustration: “AND TOPS THE NEXT GATE.”]

There is no sign of movement, however, except where the hounds are working through tangled growth of sedge and brier with ceaseless waving of their “rush-grown tails,” as Somerville phrases it, and for a while no whimper is heard. Impetuous spirits are beginning to be a little dashed by the dread that this brake may for once be blank; then a light challenge is heard from a bitch that never lies, and the huntsman answers with a cheer. To that sound every hound flies eagerly, and the chorus of their music clangs like a carillon. Another brief pause, while hearts beat high, hats are thrust tightly down, horses are pressed up to their bits, and the squadrons stand in severed ranks like cavalry waiting for the bugle to sound a charge.

Now there rises at the far corner, clear and shrill, a “Gone away!” that electrifies everybody. Hounds are out in a twinkling as their huntsman dashes forward with a spirit-stirring “Hoic, holloa,” and a few short, sharp blasts of his horn. Then the headlong rush of a hundred horsemen sweeps like a thundering mountain torrent down the slope. In that glowing stream a few dark habits flutter, and all the first flight men and women charge a blackthorn fence abreast. By this time the pack is half a field ahead, rising with ferocious dash, and skimming like a flock of wild doves over the grass. Three or four men are down in the ditch, more than one loose horse is sailing along in gay career, rejoicing to be free, and the boldest riders have to harden their hearts as they face a ragged bullfinch with a broad grip towards them, and a stiff ox-rail a yard or two on the far side. Some take a strong feel of their bridles and pull back into a hand gallop, hoping by a double effort to negotiate the obstacle cleverly; others send their horses out at steeplechase pace, riding for an almost certain fall, but trusting that by sheer impetus they may be able to clear the timber or smash it. There is a sharp crunching of thorn twigs, a repeated rapping of hoofs on the timber, a loud crash as one gallant horse breasts the rail, shivers it into atoms, staggers, and recovering himself, goes on again in hot pursuit; the dull thuds of some heavy falls, and then all who are left of the line that swept so proudly down hill at the outset speed on, a shattered section of their former strength, but with two dainty habits still proudly holding their places in the first flight.

The road-riding division has been swiftly scattered in all directions. One column is galloping hard towards some well-known coverts five miles off. Regardless of the fact that our fox would have to travel dead up wind every yard of the way to reach there, these skirters place confidence in their pilot, who boldly asserts his knowledge of the hunted one’s point, because he has taken “that very line twice before.” It is strange how some men, who might go straight enough across country if left to their own devices, will often follow the lead of a rank impostor of this order simply because he can ride like a demon after dinner “across the walnuts and the wine,” and is always taken at his own valuation until found out. Nobody ever saw him perform the daring feats he has been credited with, but many have followed him mile after mile on the “’ard ’igh road,” and kept the secret carefully to themselves, lest in exposing him they should have to confess how they also rode the run. Not that one exposure would abash him much, for he has always a variety of excuses ready to explain why he failed to get through the crowd at the start, or took a wrong turn at a critical point, and so had to make up his lost ground by a short cut. Resplendent in garb of closest conformity with conventional ideas--a single-breasted coat, long in the waist and with square-cut, ample skirts, beneath which are just visible the faultless folds of breeches that fit like skin about his knees; boots without a wrinkle or a blemish in the brilliancy of their enamel; delicately tinted tops that are not the fraction of an inch too long or too short for Fashion’s fastidious eye; a cravat which quaint old Jack Parker would say “must have been starched and ironed on him,” and a gardenia in his button-hole--this youth is, from the crown of his polished silk hat to the buckle of his silver spurs, the perfection of scrupulous neatness, and the ideal presentment of a Meltonian sportsman; but his riding to hounds is a melancholy delusion. Conspicuous by the obtrusive correctness of his “get up,” he is the centre of much misplaced admiration among the fair at every meet; and, equally conspicuous now as he heads the torrent that rolls down a lane, he is the subject of misplaced confidence also.

Once thrown into the wake of such a pilot and fairly committed to a road, while Leicestershire hounds are flying like swallows over the grass four fields away--

“Not a nose to the ground, not a stern in the air,”

even you, bold rider, know how next to impossible is the chance of getting to them again. Like a stout swimmer caught in a rapid, from which all struggles to escape are vain, you can only float on with the foaming current, deafened by its din, paralyzed by its force, and hurl anathemas at the unconscious head of that weak being whose example led you to plunge into mid-stream. If he had shown the white feather palpably you would never have followed him; but it is the boastful funker’s characteristic that he never gives you cause to suspect the fear that is in him. He looked up to the last stride like going at that bullfinch, but just then the hounds seemed to swing round a little. He saw this, and in a second was shaping his swift course for the nearest gate; you hesitated, thinking he must surely know the country best, and, having hesitated, were lost.

Let me not be misunderstood. I condemn no man merely because he shirks a big jump, for not all of us have the nerve or the confidence, the horsemanship or the quick, resolute judgment to hold our own with hounds when they are racing hard over a strongly-fenced country. Such gifts in combination are not vouchsafed to one in every hundred, even among those who hunt with the Quorn, and he who frankly admits that nothing would tempt him to put his horse at any obstacle more formidable than a sheep hurdle may be a sportsman to the backbone, worthy of our highest respect; but Leicestershire is not quite the country for him. Only a man’s assumption of courage and attempts to cloak his cowardice make him and the action ridiculous. Nor would I for a moment hint, as John Warde once did, the fastidiousness which marks Meltonians in matters of hunting costume is a sign of effeminate weakness. A perfectly dressed man is never out of place except in the ruck; and to do the most foppish youths justice, it must be said that funking is not their characteristic fault. Digby Collins, one of the quietest, boldest, and best riders to hounds in his day that any “provincial” country, or the shires for that matter, could boast, summed up the exquisite’s character in brief when he said: “Your true hunting dandy would as soon think of omitting those minutiæ and obvious sacrifices to the Graces as he would of turning aside from a nasty place for fear of soiling them; and if he can carry his splendors well to the front for forty minutes from Ranksboro’ Gorse or the Coplow, nor fear to smirch them in the muddy waters of the Whissendine, who shall blame him?”

There are half a dozen of this type holding their own now in the first flight, from whose doings our thoughts have been for a few brief moments turned aside. Dandies they are in every detail, scrupulous even as to the correct length and width of the bow above their boots, and fond of personal adornment as the bewitching maiden whose white-vested habit has flashed past them once or twice, and whose presence has nerved them to all that man dare do. The wiry huntsman, full of dash and fire for all his fifty years, rides straight as he rode it from Waterloo Gorse nearly a quarter of a century ago; and the master, hoping to shake off the incubus of exuberant youth, puts his horse at the stiffest timber, where nothing but fine nerve in a crisis can save him from a crushing fall. But neither these nor the hounds, turn which way they will, can get half a field away from those half-dozen dandies who charge an oxen as their soldier forefathers did a line of infantry, and count fifteen rapturous minutes with the Quorn as worth a cycle of slow hunting in Clayshire.

As the line of chase bends down wind a little, and the bitches can no longer drive at topmost speed, they are in danger of being overridden. One youth, more reckless than the rest, lands over a double almost on top of the pack. The master’s reprimand is muttered in D minor, but he looks unutterable language, against which the thickest hide should not be armor-proof. The offending youth, however, speeds on with unruffled composure, his imperturbability reminding one of another thrusting pursuer in a distant hunt whose propensity for pressing hounds off a line the M. F. H. ironically rebuked by requesting him to take particular care not to jump on one of them, as it was a special favorite. Not a jot abashed, the youth replied: “I have a shocking bad memory for hounds, and I am afraid he will have to take his chance with the others.”

If our fox had held on up-wind he could not have stood before hounds another mile at the pace they drove over those first ten meadows. But now the line bends with a sharper curve from the easterly breeze, and the speed slackens somewhat, but only just enough to let the second flight up as we find our faces set straight at the brook that never fails to thin a Leicestershire field. We can already see the willow trees that mark its course. One ragged thorn fence and two furlongs of furrowed water-meadow lie between us and the yawning channel. That fence does not look forbidding; but ride at it carefully, for old gaps unmended mean that there is some other obstacle beyond. It may be broad, it may be deep, and the branches droop as if over a ditch, but you cannot afford to chance anything now. A crumpler here would take half the remaining breath out of steeds already sorely pressed, and you will want it all for a bigger effort presently. That warning came not a minute too soon. The old horse pricks his ears, but his rush had best be restrained. Sloping ground on the far side tells of a deep drop, and the horse that goes fast at that will want ready hands controlled by iron nerves to save him as he lands. There goes one! With just a turn too much speed put on at sight of a broad ditch and rotten banks, he spanned the chasm, but that drop was more than wearied forelegs could stand as they struck the steep slope. A falter, a peck, a heavy thud, and the rider executes a somersault two yards clear of the prostrate steed. Now watch how a workman deals with the obstacle. He seems to go at it just as fast, but by a firm, light feel of the mouth he has collected his horse for a supreme effort. The impetus is just enough and no more; the distance has been measured to a nicety; the hunter, well bred and high mettled, leaps “from the hand” without a pause, lands lightly as a bird, and like a bird skims on again.

There has been no check yet, but just a brief pause where the fox changed his course, and hounds are driving on as if he were now only a field ahead of them. The scent is breast-high and they have no need to stoop to it. Nor do they throw their tongues freely; the pace is too good for that. Like cavalry charging with a broad front, they carry what sportsmen call a good head. At every twist and turn there is keen rivalry for the lead, as first one and then another flashes out in front and swings to the scent like a yacht keeling over on a new tack or a swallow turning in mid-air. There is just a shrill whimper then, and the whole pack wheels to it as if at word of command. Fifteen minutes, full of more incidents than can be crowded into the hours of an ordinary day, have passed since our fox was halloa’d away. The hundreds from among whose thundering heels the tail hounds had to make hazardous way as we sped over the first broad meadow, have dwindled down to a twentieth of their number, and now we are heading straight for the sluggish brook, which is so full now that we cannot see where its slimy banks have been worn hollow by the slow curves and eddies of its summer current or the first rushes of winter floods.

The riding and spurring o’er Canobie Lea was as nothing to the rush with which men wheel right and left, galloping hard to find a gate and avoid the water. It is

“No shallow dry ditch, with a hurdle to screen it, That cocktail imposture a steeple-chase brook; But the flood-fretted banks tell as plain, if we mean it, The less we shall like it the longer we look.”

How that “dream of the Old Meltonian” rings in our ears as we clench our teeth hard, sit down in our saddles and ride for the brook! There are not twenty followers left with the pack now, and not more than half of them look as if they mean going.

The quiet, determined horseman who negotiated that last awkward drop so cleverly (typical of the best man of any country, whether in Leicestershire or the most remote provinces), is taking a line of his own, but without any sign of shirking or hesitation. At one point a light thorn-fence half screens the brook, and he goes for it at that point, well knowing that the roots of bushes will give him firm ground to take off from; and as to the sort of place on which he may land, he is content to take his chance. Catching firm hold of his horse’s head, but so lightly that there is no perceptible increase of pressure on bit or bridle, he sends an electric thrill of sympathy, along the reins. A strong squeeze of the knees, just one touch of the spur, and they go at it best speed. Like a bullet the good steed flies through the screen of slender twigs, hangs a brief beat of time above the glittering water, and with just a scramble where the hollow bank gives way, is on _terra firma_ once more. It was a yawner indeed--broad as a Lincolnshire dyke, deep enough to engulf horse and rider, and gloomy as the Styx. One fair pursuer goes at it where the huntsman leads, and, thanks to her pilot’s quick eye for selecting a sound place, gets over cleverly. The other races hard at a bend where ceaseless eddies have worn a wider channel. The little teeth are clenched tightly, and every nerve in her slender frame is tingling with excitement. The gallant thoroughbred shares this feeling, and, big as the effort is, he will not be balked. With nostrils dilated and quivering, eyes straining forward, and every muscle at tension, he bounds boldly forward, and rather by impetus of speed than any palpable exertion of his own, flies across the broad chasm. It is a hair’s breadth too much at this point even for his superb leaping powers to compass; the hind feet drop in, but fortunately find hold on a lower submerged shelf. The rider’s lithe, light figure is instinctively thrown forward, the plucky steed has his head, and by a second effort such as the underbred cocktail seldom makes, he carries his rider safely ashore, shakes his dripping quarters, and a minute later is speeding on beside the pack again.

On either hand the splash and gurgle of waters tell that somebody has gone down. In the one case it is the horse in, the man on the right side, with reins in hand and rueful contemplation on his face; in the other it is a man in mid-stream, spluttering and gesticulating for the help of a friendly hunting crop, while his recreant steed, with sweating flanks and straining eyes, looks over the brink at him.

A minute later hoofs are clattering hard against the unyielding oak of stiff post and rails, whereat one horse, that has been done to a turn in his efforts to catch the first flight, rises impotently out of sticky ground. His knees hit the top bar, which scarcely bends before the weight, and turning heels over head, he falls heavily on his rider. Fortunately the ground is soft and there are no ribs broken, but all the fiery spirit has been pumped out of both horse and rider by this disaster. Now we cross one of the modern curses to fox-hunting in the midlands--a newly cut railway--go slowly over the next field, jump the bank and binders up-hill into a roadway, and then come to our first real check at the end of twenty fast minutes.

Up to this point there has been more riding than hunting; but what Meltonian has eyes for hounds, or cares about them, while they lead the field at highest speed if only they furnish musical accompaniment enough for him to ride by? Those twenty minutes, full of dash and keen rivalry, are to him worth all the slow hunting runs ever chronicled, and the delight of watching hounds puzzle out a cold scent or drive a fox through dense woodlands where no man can ride to them, and when only by their sonorous music one can know which way the tide of chase is rolling, is to him a sensation unknown. At this first check, which means that either the fox will beat his pursuers or that they will have to hunt him patiently to death, the man who comes out simply to ride would fain go home again, were it not that a fresh fox may be found presently, and another fast scurry give him the opportunities of steeplechasing distinction for which his soul craves.

There is a popular superstition that the typical Leicestershire huntsman is very much of the same mind on these points--that, having got off the line of one fox, he will neither give hounds time to make their own cast nor complete the work with painstaking science himself, but will simply fling forward in a half-circle, like an over-eager hound. That, if he fails to hit off a scent in this dashing fashion, he will gallop straight to the nearest brake and find a fresh fox, thereby getting credit for a wonderfully clever cast from those who have been too far behind to see what happened, or too inexperienced to know. These things, or something like them, happen, it is true, when hounds come to their first check before there has been time to shake off the crowd. A huntsman who could not practice little deceptions of this kind at times without making either his pack or himself hopelessly wild, would be as useless in the shires as a hound that had not the courage to thread its way among hundreds of heels, and slip through the torrent of mad pursuers when the “gone away” has been sounded. I have seen such methods resorted to with brilliant success by Will Goodall of the Pytchley, by Neill of the Cottesmore, and Tom Firr of the Quorn, when the throng pressed so persistently that hounds had no chance to hunt. But the perfection of breeding and training is attested by the fact that, though frequently lifted thus, all three packs will stoop readily to a scent when they have room, make their own casts with dash, not waiting with heads up for their huntsman to help them whenever they come to a difficulty, and hunt a cold line as cleverly as any “provincial” pack.

There is not much time to “leave ’em alone,” or practice slow tactics now, for the thunder of road-riders rolls down the wind, and in a few minutes more the presence of hundreds may spoil all that would have been possible with a field of only fifty followers. Still the huntsman will not hurry. The hounds probably know more than he does, and he knows enough to be sure that a mistake made at the first check can rarely be retrieved. There is a little feathering and waving of sterns on the line our fox has come; then a few couples try forward without success, and then, as if actuated by one impulse, they all swing round in a wide self-cast. In this there is no flashy wildness, but perfect steadiness and close work, yet nothing to suggest the style of harriers.

See one hound as he circles round, stops suddenly, stoops to the furrow, feathers along it for a few yards, and then throws his tongue lightly. “Hoic to Festive! hoic together! Hurrah for the blood of Belvoir Fallible!” shouts the huntsman, all animation in a second at the sound. Every hound flies to where Festive spoke, but they do not stop to “quest” the scent and make sure of it for themselves, as harriers would. Each, jealous of honors and striving for the lead, flies eagerly forward to feel for the line a few yards in advance of his rivals. So, one after the other, they take up the cry until all burst out in a clamorous chorus, and speed over the open once more.

Luckily, we are set going just in time, and straight for a line of frowning bullfinches, where network of thorns to be bored through, and ox-rails and ditches to be got over somehow, would stall off the faint-hearted. A minute later the road-riding division in all their might would have been upon us, but now they are left behind again. There is a gorse covert ahead, where fresh foxes are sure to be on foot, and if only we change to any of these, our hunted one may save his brush after all. But Will, the whipper-in, slips round as fast as he can to the fox side as hounds dash into the cover.

A red-roan steers away when he gets there, but it is not the right animal, and Will stops the leading hounds when they come to him. Then all is silence. But what is that old bitch doing in the dry ditch beside the boundary fence? Our huntsman has one eye on her, the other on the uplands a field or two off. Yes, that’s it. Something brown is stealing along a furrow. The fox has never gone into this gorse, but skirted it, his cunning telling him that he might thus delay pursuers and throw them off on a false scent. Two or three light touches of the horn bring hounds to him. In a cluster they follow him as he crashes through a bullfinch and tops the next gate. He takes them along as if they were running in view, but at one wave of his hand when he comes where the fox was last viewed, they spread out like a fan, own to the scent with notes of joy, and take us on again mile after mile, their pace quickening as the power of horses to rise at a leap begins to flag.

A welcome breathing space comes when hounds enter a chain of woods in which our fox is certain to pause for a while. But here the huntsman gives his quarry little time to rest. His voice rings out in answer to every whimper from a hound he can trust, and so they keep driving straight through for the far end. Evidently our fox is a stout-hearted traveler, who does not mean to dwell and be caught like a rat in a trap. He will run until he can run no longer, and then die like a gentleman. Shall we be there to see, or is the end yet afar off?

The bold first flightman, whose example disproves the fallacy that a hard rider neither cares nor knows anything about hound work, shall be our guide still. Watch him as he moves quietly through the rides of this wood--his eye quick to take in all that each hound is doing, his ear sensitive to every sound, while he may seem to be noting nothing. He knows instinctively, though he may never have seen the pack before, when a hound is lying with the reckless clamor of youth, or with the half-closed mouth and faint whimper of long-continued weakness for riot, or when another is telling the truth with hot outspoken tongue. Directly that last welcome sound reaches him, followed by Will’s view-halloa, he is out of the wood like an arrow from the bow, and with the pack as it comes together in the open.

Two fields have been crossed, and we begin to realize that the fox’s point must be a well-known stronghold of the neighboring hunt where tree-tops can be seen in the hazy distance; but his gallant effort to reach it is in vain. We see by the way hounds begin to twist and turn that the hunted one’s sinewy limbs are beginning to fail him, though his courage holds out to the last. There is no need to nurse your horse any longer, for the chase is near its end, and you may push over wet meadow or deep plough without fear. You cannot override hounds now or turn them from the line, for see, their hackles are up; that low, fierce growl means that they have caught a view of the sinking fox, and the shrill scream that makes every fibre tingle with excitement is a death-knell.

A minute later the clear “Whaw! whoop!” rings out over the tattered remnants for which hounds are struggling and wrangling. The superb young horsewoman, whose daring deeds have put many a bold Meltonian to shame, is handed a trophy which Diana might proudly hang at her saddle-bow, for it is the brush of as good a fox as ever led his pursuers a fast forty minutes over Leicestershire pastures.

It may justly be objected that a run like this is not typical of the terrific rush as of a whirlwind, the brilliant burst for fifteen minutes with hounds racing every yard of the way from find to finish, and the reckless rivalry that goes to make up all that is most characteristic of a run in the shires. But my answer is, that these fast scurries are not fox-hunting, and I have chosen rather to describe the incidents of a run that may be seen once in a season, but not oftener, in the much vaunted shires; or with the “blue and buff” followers of the Badminton or the tawny coats of Atherstone; with the Warwickshire, the Fitzwilliam, the Cheshire, the Vale of White Horse, or any of the leading provincial hunts.

Of the minutæ of wilder sport in countries where hounds must do all the work and mere riding is at a discount, I shall have to write in another article. The happy hunting-grounds of old England are being rapidly hemmed in by railways and curtailed by the abnormal growth of manufacturing centres, but fox-hunting flourishes still, and there are many counties wherein the cheery notes of horn and hound may be heard from October to May.

SPANIEL TRAINING.

BY D. BOULTON HERRALD.

~Many~ a dog is ruined for the field by injudicious training. With all the good intentions in the world he trains his puppy to retrieve, using a stick or a stone, and encourages him to chase the sparrows in the street, because, forsooth, he thinks that checking him would have the effect of blunting his hunting enthusiasm when on game. The result is a dog that reduces the birds to a pulp while retrieving them, and who rushes about the covert at railroad speed, hundreds of yards ahead of the gun, flushing the birds far out of range, and chasing everything he sees, until, exhausted, he is forced to return to his master and rest.

The following lines are penned especially for the benefit of the sportsman (and his name is legion) who pursues this mode of training (?) in the hope that his next spaniel, taught under the rules laid down in this article, will be at least an improvement on the one he at present owns.

Before commencing work, remember that you must always be firm but kind, and that above all things you must not lose your temper with your pupil. Never give in to the dog; always make him do what he is told. Be sure that he knows what he is being punished for when it becomes necessary to do so, and don’t delay the punishment long enough for him to forget for what he is being corrected. Do not stint your praise when he does well.

The first lesson to be taught is retrieving. The nearer the puppy is to two months old the better, in my opinion, for our purpose. Some writers recommend waiting until he has lost his milk teeth and the new ones are well grown in, as they say that a dog taught to retrieve before getting rid of these first teeth is apt to be hard-mouthed in retrieving birds, etc.; but the experience of the writer has been that if properly taught, however young, the puppy will not develop that evil habit. If a youngster of any “go,” he can be taught more easily at that age, though a dull one cannot be taken in hand so early.

Roll an old and soft woolen sock into a ball, then sit down and call your pupil to you. Push the ball in his face to attract his attention to it, making him try to take hold. Then, throwing it six inches away, say, “Go fetch it, Jack” (as we will call him), motioning him towards it with the right hand at the same time. If he refuses to pick up the ball, go to him, and, placing it in his mouth, force him to go with you to the place you threw from, making him hold it until you have said, “dead bird!” or “dead!” Should he refuse to give up the ball, force his jaws open with the thumb and second finger of the left hand inserted at the base of the jaws, removing it with the right, saving the while, “Dead! dead!” Never _pull_ anything away, as he will pull too, and a nice state your partridge or duck would be in were such a proceeding permitted. He _must_ be taught to drop whatever he is carrying when commanded to do so by voice or sign. For a sign, hold up the right hand, with the forefinger erect and the rest folded. Never let him worry nor mouth anything.

Should he pick up the ball, and run away, refusing to bring it to you, take him behind the shoulders and drag him to the place where you were sitting when it was thrown. Make him hold the ball until you get there, and then proceed as hereinbefore directed. He will soon learn this lesson. Throw the ball farther and farther as he progresses, and continue until he is perfected in it.

When he has learned to retrieve the thrown ball he can be advanced a stage. Show him the bail, not letting him take it, and, saying “Dead!” place it on the ground and walk away, telling him to follow. After going a few steps, turn, and, waving the hand in the direction in which he is to go, say, “Go, seek dead!” Should he fail to understand your meaning, go back, show him the ball, and, after again taking him away some little distance, order him to get it and then deliver to you.

When three or four months old, if he is perfect in his other lessons, take, say, a game bird’s wing, or in default of that, a fowl’s, show it him, and, putting him out of the room (I am supposing that you teach him in the house), shut the door. Then hide it where it can easily be found, and let him in, saying, “Go, seek dead!” motioning the direction in which he is to quest. Continue this for some time until he does it perfectly, hiding the wing in out-of-the-way places about the house as he progresses.

Never let his search be a fruitless one. If he cannot find for himself, show him the hiding-place, and make him fetch the wing to the place from which you sent him.

To teach the puppy to retrieve from water after he has learnt to do so on land, take him, when the water is warm, to a shelving beach. First throw his ball to the water’s edge (for this work fold some cork shavings in it), then into the water far enough to force him to wet his feet, and so on, farther and farther, until at last he is obliged to swim. This should be gone about gradually, and with extreme care, so as to give him confidence in his powers. Above all things do not throw him into water over his depth, as it will only tend to make him dislike it, and may ruin him for water retrieving altogether. It is well to make your pupil retrieve sometimes _in the dark_, as if only worked by daylight he is apt to depend too much on eyesight, which practice must not, of course, be tolerated for a moment.

The next lesson to be taught is “coming to heel.” When you are out walking, and he is running ahead, call sharply, “Heel, Jack--heel!” forcing him behind you at the same time. Should he try to break away, tap him smartly with your whip or walking-stick, saying, “Heel! heel!” Continue this until he will come in at once when called, and thrash him if he breaks away without the order to “hie on” or “go on.” To teach this, wave the hand forward while verbally giving the order, and run a few steps onward. This lesson will be easily inculcated, and it will be to him the most welcome order he has to obey.

Few spaniels in this country are trained to drop to shot or command; but presuming my reader to be desirous of giving his pupil a finished education, I will describe an easy mode of teaching it. Order him sharply to “drop!” when standing beside you, at the same time forcing him to the ground by placing the knee on his shoulders, and keep him there for a few moments, saying “Drop! drop!” Then removing your hand or foot from off him, say “Up!” making him rise. When ordering him to drop, hold your right (or left) arm erect above the shoulder, so that in time he will associate the uplifted arm with the verbal command. In due course he will drop at the signal alone. Do not allow him to get up until ordered to do so, whether you walk away and leave him or not.

Next take some firearm, a muzzle-loading horse-pistol for choice, and, commanding him to drop by voice and sign, fire it. In time he will associate the report with the other orders to drop, and so “drop to shot.”

Never weary your pupil; stop the lesson before he tires of it. Always have him alone with you when at work, as his attention must not be distracted from the matter in hand. _Never deceive him._ It is well to reward him now and again for good behavior with some dainty of which he is fond. Use the whip as little as possible; but when you do whip, _whip soundly_.

And now for the field. On arriving at the covert in which you purpose beginning operations, order him in; instinct then teaches him to quest for a scent. At first allow him to range at will to put a keen edge on his appetite for the work, and do not check him when so hunting. If he goes too far away, hide carefully and make him find you without assistance from you. He will think he is lost, and be wary of going too far in future.

When he begins to enjoy his work thoroughly you can begin to curb his ranging propensities. If he runs too far, call “Close, Jack--close!” and should he persist in doing so, thrash him, repeating the while, “Close! close!” He should not be allowed to range farther than twenty or twenty-five yards from the gun.

Should he give chase to a flushed bird, shout “Ware chase, Jack!” and if he persists, call him in and thrash him, repeating the order whilst doing so. If he springs a hare and attempts to chase her, shout “Ware fur, Jack!” and calling him to where you stand, scold and thrash him. He must be broken of noticing “fur” at all hazards.

When you shoot the first bird over him order him to “go seek dead!” motioning the direction in which it fell. If he cannot find it, go and find it for him, then pointing to it, say “Dead!” and calling him to follow, go back to where you stood at firing, and order him to get it. If he refuses to pick the bird up, put it in his mouth and force him to carry it to where you stood. Order him to put it down, and praise and make much of him, and ten to one next time he will retrieve. Use every endeavor to kill the first bird you fire at to his flush.

After this, “practice makes perfect,” and the reader will in time own a dog of whose accomplishments afield he may be proud.

LAWN TENNIS IN THE SOUTH.

BY H. W. SLOCUM, JR.

The remarkable interest displayed in lawn tennis throughout the North, and the increasing popularity of the game, as shown each year by the multitude of new players and new clubs, have been fully equaled in the South during the past two seasons. The Southern interest is an awakening one. The athletes of that section have become aware, only during the last few years, that lawn tennis is a game which fully develops every muscle, and at the same time possesses the elements of excitement and competition which render any athletic game more attractive.

The Southern Lawn Tennis Association, which was organized in the fall of 1887, made it a part of its constitution that “no club which is situated north of Wilmington, Delaware, should be admitted to membership in the Association.” So we may well take a line drawn east and west through Wilmington as the northern boundary of the Southern tennis field; and what a vast field it is! Winter visitors to the South find the game in full swing in every town from Wilmington, Delaware, to St. Augustine, Florida. Tournaments are held in the largest cities of the extreme South in the middle of winter, and the turf is as green and the temperature even more delightful for lawn tennis than the Northern players enjoy at Newport where the tournament for the National championship is held in midsummer.

The enthusiasm of the extreme South has reached its highest point in St. Augustine, Florida, where a valuable challenge cup has been offered, to be played for in February or March of each year. The cup was last year contested for by only a few Northerners, who happened to be sojourning in Florida, and was won by Mr. H. G. Trevor, of New York City. It has lately been reported, however, that a special Pullman car, finely equipped, will convey to the scene of conflict Northern contestants in the next tournament, to be held in the month of March, 1889. The St. Augustine Lawn Tennis Club has recently become a member of the United States National Lawn Tennis Association, and the coming tournament will be held under its auspices.

To reach the centre of Southern interest and enthusiasm, however, we must travel far north of St. Augustine and visit three large cities, viz., Washington, the national capital, Baltimore and Wilmington. In Washington, particularly, the game has taken a long stride forward; and what place could be better adapted for such a sport? Its climate is such that the “tennis fiend” may enjoy his favorite game all the year round. Turf courts can be used as late as December and as early as April, and during the intervening months practice on asphalt is sufficient to keep the eye and the hand well “in.” Some years ago a few members of the Metropolitan Club built an asphalt court on I Street, and since that time there have been few winters when the court has not been in constant use. On many occasions the snow has been shoveled away to afford an afternoon’s amusement. The members of the different foreign legations have been accustomed to use this court, and during the past few years Lord Sackville-West, the unfortunate victim of American politics, was an almost constant attendant, usually as a spectator. On this court Mr. W. V. R. Berry and Mr. H. W. Slocum, Jr., played almost daily during the winter of ’84 and ’85, and Mr. Berry showed the value of his winter practice by capturing most of the rich prizes offered at Northern tournaments during the following summer, his rank among expert players being second only to the champion, Mr. R. D. Sears. Mr. Berry is almost a giant in stature, and few of his opponents in tournaments of that summer will be apt to forget his strong and accurate “smashing,” which was the feature and chief strength of his game.

Prior to the summer of 1887, tournaments for the championship of the South had been held on the grounds of the Delaware Field Club, at Wilmington, that club being a member of the United States National Lawn Tennis Association, and the tournaments being held under its auspices.

During the latter part of that summer, a few active spirits in Washington, the most prominent of whom was Dr. F. P. MacLean, conceived the idea of organizing an association, to be composed exclusively of clubs situated in the South, and of holding an annual tournament for the championship of the South, under the auspices of that association. Up to this period no tournaments had been held in the District of Columbia, except a few local contests, which had aroused little or no enthusiasm. There were probably not more than ten clubs in the city, and most of these were composed of but few members. To Dr. MacLean, more than any one else, was due the interest which was now newly excited. His enthusiasm was contagious, and active preparations were begun for the first tournament of an association which was not yet in existence. It was decided to hold the tournament in October, and circulars were sent to all of the prominent clubs of the South, inviting their members to contest in the coming tournament and share in the organization of the Association.

The responses were numerous and favorable, and on the 30th of October a meeting was held at Wormley’s Hotel, in Washington, at which delegates from the Baltimore Cricket Club of Baltimore, Md., the Delaware Field Club of Wilmington, and other smaller clubs scattered through Virginia and Maryland, met representatives of the prominent clubs of the District of Columbia. A permanent organization was effected, to be known as the Southern Lawn Tennis Association. Dr. F. P. MacLean was elected president, Mr. Leigh Bonsal, of the Baltimore Cricket Club, vice-president, and Mr. C. L. McCawley, of the Columbia Athletic Club, of Washington, secretary and treasurer. It was resolved that no club situated north of Wilmington, Del., should be admitted to membership in the Association.

The first tournament of the Association was successful, far beyond the anticipation of its promoters. It was held on October 30, and the following days, at the United States Marine Barracks. The championship of the South, in singles, was won by Leigh Bonsal, of the Baltimore Cricket Club, and the same player, with L. V. LeMoyne as partner, secured the honor of the doubles championship for his club. Washington was obliged to rest content with second honors, R. B. Goodfellow securing second place in the singles, and C. L. McCawley and R. S. Chilton the same in the doubles. The tournament was ably managed by a committee composed of Dr. MacLean, W. V. R. Berry, and C. L. McCawley. The prizes were donated to the Association by two prominent firms of New York City, A. G. Spalding & Bros. giving a challenge cup for the singles, to be won two years before it became the property of the holder, and Peck & Snyder presenting two silver cups to the winners of the doubles championship.

[Illustration: GROUP OF CONTESTANTS--TOURNAMENT OF THE COUNTRY CLUB OF MARYLAND.

A. W. TOMES. TOM PETTITT. F. V. L. HOPPIN. A. H. S. POST. F. MANSFIELD.

R. V. BEACH. YATES PENNINGTON. A. L. RIVES. ]

[Illustration: CLUB HOUSE, BALTIMORE CRICKET CLUB.]

The success of this initial tournament of the Association greatly encouraged its officers. Many of the contestants had been hitherto unheard of, and some of them coming from clubs located in small towns and villages of Virginia and Maryland, had shown skill of no mean order. Particularly surprising was the play of Mr. Abel John Layard, a young Englishman, and a member of the Winchester Club, of Winchester, Va., who, during the progress of the tournament, played a very interesting exhibition match with Mr. W. V. R. Berry, and showed remarkable skill. His play demonstrated anew that the skill of the average Englishman in lawn tennis is superior to that of the average player in this country. It is equally true, however, that we are approaching nearer and nearer to the English standard of excellence, and that in a few years our experts will be able to meet the best players of England on even terms.

This tournament virtually ended the lawn tennis season of 1887 in the South. Its effect was noticeable, however, in the largely increased number of clubs and players in Washington and its vicinity. The officers of the Southern Association were not idle during the winter. It was determined that the next championship tournament should be held in the spring, and that the grounds of the Baltimore Cricket Club should be used, in order that the city of Baltimore might share in the newly awakened interest in lawn tennis. Early in the month of May, however, the most active players of Washington arranged a tournament for the championship of the District of Columbia, believing that such a competition would develop players who might represent Washington with honor in the championship tournament at Baltimore.

It is unquestionably true that tournament practice, as a promoter of skill, is far better than any other. The player competing in a tournament is continually alert and strives hard to win every point, while one who has no such incentive is apt to become indolent and indifferent as to success, in which condition he is little apt to improve. Two days in a tournament is worth more than a week of ordinary practice to one who desires to improve in skill.

The committee in charge concluded to hold the tournament on the courts of Kendall Green, the ably conducted Government college for deaf mutes, at the head of which is the well-known Dr. Gallaudet. Two tennis organizations ordinarily use these courts; the one composed mainly of the college professors, and the other almost entirely of the students, some of whom have become quite proficient, and are always among the most interested spectators of any important match played at Kendall Green.

Having secured these grounds, the committee made the tournament additionally attractive by adding two events for ladies, both a singles and a doubles competition. There are no ladies in the District whose skill rivals that of the seemingly invincible Miss Robinson of Staten Island; she appears to be in a class by herself among the lady players of this country, and the only ambition of a majority of her opponents is to do as well as possible against her; but there are many of considerable skill, and the entries in these two events were sufficient to make them very interesting. The championship of the District of Columbia, in ladies’ singles, was won by Miss Bayard, a daughter of the Secretary of State, who had often demonstrated the strength of her game while a member of the Delaware Field Club of Wilmington. The contest in ladies’ doubles was won by Miss Bayard and Miss Safford. The championship in men’s singles was rather unexpectedly taken by Mr. John Pope, who had shown a considerable knowledge of the science of the game when representing Cornell University in the Intercollegiate tournament of the previous year. Mr. Pope’s most troublesome competitors were Mr. R. B. Goodfellow and Mr. C. L. McCawley, both of whom showed marked improvement in their play. Mr. McCawley, with Mr. Stevens as a partner, succeeded in winning the final round of the doubles from Messrs. Woodward and Davidson, and thus carried off that championship.

[Illustration: CLUB HOUSE AND TENNIS COURTS--COUNTRY CLUB OF MARYLAND.]

The success of this tournament and the good play shown did not, however, appear to materially affect the result of the next championship meeting of the Southern Association, held on the grounds of the Baltimore Cricket Club, on June 13 and following days. Washington was represented by some of its strongest players, who made a creditable showing. Messrs. Bonsal and LeMoyne, however, who, as a result of continued practice together, showed admirable team work, succeeded in winning the double event for the second time, and thus became the owners of the two cups presented by Peck & Snyder. A new champion made his appearance in the singles. Mr. A. H. S. Post gave by far the best exhibition of skill that had up to that time been seen in the South, and won the championship without much trouble. Mr. Post is only seventeen years of age, and as his play is not free from some of those faults and weaknesses common to young players, it was greatly to his credit that he succeeded in wresting victory from opponents of so much greater experience. His strokes are at times positively brilliant, and, though he often shows inexcusable carelessness and an apparent lack of steadiness, it was demonstrated that his game possesses real strength by the closeness of the match which he played with a strong opponent, Mr. Q. A. Shaw, in the open tournament held at Narragansett Pier last summer. Mr. Post is undoubtedly one of the most promising of the young players, and the development of his skill will be watched with interest.

Though the two tournaments held at Washington in the fall of ’87 and the spring of ’88 did not produce a player capable of winning the championship, yet their beneficial influence was shown in the improved play of the greatly increased number who followed lawn tennis as a pastime. There were about ten clubs in existence two years ago. There are now seventy, and the total number of players, as estimated by the “Capitol” newspaper, is two thousand. If a devotee of lawn tennis, who is anxious to improve but does not himself wish to compete in a tournament, will observe carefully the methods of different contestants who are struggling to win the prizes, he is certain to obtain some hints which will be useful to him and strengthen his game. Thus did these tournaments result in a substantial improvement in play throughout Washington. Among the most expert, and among those whose improvement has been most rapid, may be mentioned Messrs. Oscar Woodward, C. L. McCawley, John Pope, R. B. Goodfellow, John Davidson, W. P. Metcalf, and Dr. J. L. Wortman. No list could be complete without adding the name of Mr. W. V. R. Berry, who established his reputation as an expert some years ago, and who now appears to have joined the ranks of retired veterans.

Some few years ago a club, social in its nature, was organized by several gentlemen of Washington, prominent among whom was Mr. John F. Waggeman. A clubhouse and grounds were secured on the Bladensburg road, at a point located in the State of Maryland, but only a short distance from the boundary line of the District of Columbia, and not more than three or four miles from the centre of the city of Washington. The club is known as the Country Club of the State of Maryland, or the Highland Country Club, and it was designed to occupy the same relation to the city of Washington as the country clubs of Boston and New York hold to those cities. One of the earliest sporting features added to the club was a tennis court, and it at once occurred to the ever active mind of Dr. F. P. McLean, who was a member and interested in the club, that this would be a grand place in which to hold a large lawn tennis tournament. Tournaments for the championship of the South had been held under the auspices of the Southern Lawn Tennis Association; but it had been required, as a condition of playing, that a contestant should be a member of a club belonging to the Association, and, consequently, only a resident of the South was able to compete.

Dr. McLean knew that the Middle States Championship had been won by Mr. R. D. Sears, a resident of New England, and that the New England championship is at the present time held by a New Yorker. He felt that a tournament for the championship of the South, open to all comers, whether from the North or the South, would excite general interest, and would, moreover, give the residents of Washington an opportunity to witness the skillful playing of the Northern experts, who, it was hoped, would be induced to compete.

As a first step, the Country Club of the State of Maryland applied for membership in the United States National Lawn Tennis Association, with the idea of holding the proposed tournament under the auspices of that Association. The application was granted and authority given to the club to hold the tournament for the championship of the Southern States. This action, of course, placed the National Association in an attitude of apparent rivalry to the Southern Association. The latter had already held a tournament at Baltimore, as has been related, and, naturally, would not recognize any champion for the year except the winner of that tournament. The rivalry was more apparent than real, however, as Dr. McLean, the president of the Southern Association, was one of the originators, and, in fact, the most active in the management of the Country Club tournament. The apparent conflict and championship complication will not be experienced in the future, as it is probable that the United States National Lawn Tennis Association, whose membership is now limited to single clubs, will at the next annual meeting engraft into its constitution a clause under which other associations may be admitted to membership in the older organization, thus making it a central and undisputed authority in lawn tennis throughout the United States. Under such a clause the Southern Association can become a member, and only one annual tournament for the championship of the South will hereafter be held.

Dr. McLean spent a great part of last summer in visiting Northern tournaments and extending to Northern experts an invitation to compete in the Country Club tournament. To each one was offered the hospitality of the club during the tournament, and Dr. McLean finally succeeded in securing the entries of several players prominent in the North. In the meantime active preparations were being made at the Highland Country Club. A more interesting place for such an event could not be selected. The club is located, as before noted, on the old Bladensburg road, about three or four miles from Washington, and one or two from the village of Bladensburg. The club-house is in the centre of a large area of level ground, every foot of which is rich in historical association. On this very ground occurred, in the year 1814, one of the most important conflicts of the war of that period, the battle of Bladensburg, and on one side of the lot, close to the main road and distant only three or four hundred yards from the club-house, is a plot of ground particularly interesting as being the scene of the many duels which have made the name of Bladensburg famous.

The club had at this time but one lawn tennis court, and as soon as the tournament became an assured fact, it was at once decided to lay out four more. A description of the means by which these courts were finally constructed will not be uninteresting to one who proposes to build a court of clay or dirt, the materials used in this case. September had already arrived, and as it was proposed to hold the tournament during the latter part of that month, there was but little time for the construction of courts; but a plot of ground was easily leveled, a foundation of some solid material laid, and a mixture of dirt and clay filled in. At this point it seemed as if fate were against the club, for rain began to fall before the mixture had commenced to solidify, and rain continued to fall for one whole week, until the space occupied by that dirt and clay assumed the aspect of a quagmire. The rain ceased only a week before the time set for the tournament, and it was at first feared that it could not be held; but the ingenious idea of some brilliant mind saved the day. An old negro farmer, with a small army of mules at his command, lived near by, and both he and his mules were at once sent for. The old fellow brought his fourteen mules to the club, and they were turned loose upon the quagmire of clay and dirt. They tramped and stamped over it from daylight until eleven o’clock at night, and at the end of the third day of tramping, the Highland Country Club had as solid a piece of ground as could be desired. A few irregularities on the surface were easily smoothed away, and four courts were laid out, good enough to be used by the most exacting of lawn tennis experts.

The tournament was held on Tuesday, September 25 and the following days, and could hardly have been a greater success. Mr. F. Mansfield, of the Longwood Cricket Club, Boston, Messrs. F. V. L. Hoppin and H. A. Ditson, of the same club; Messrs. Ludington and Beach, of Yale University; Mr. Dean Miller, of New York; Mr. F. W. Kellogg, of New Haven; Mr. A. W. Tomes, of Brooklyn, and Mr. J. W. Smith were among the entries from the North, and all of these gentlemen enjoyed the hospitality of the club. The most expert of their Southern opponents were Mr. A. H. S. Post, the champion of the Southern Association, representing Baltimore, and Messrs. Davidson, Woodward, McCawley, Rives, Goodfellow, Metcalf and Wortman, all from the District of Columbia. There were in all thirty-six contestants, making it by far the largest tournament ever held in the South, as well as the greatest in interesting features. Dr. McLean had secured the presence of Thomas Pettitt, the professional champion of the world in court tennis, and also remarkably expert in lawn tennis. Pettitt played two exhibition games during the week, one with Mr. A. H. S. Post, in which he successfully conceded odds of fifteen, and the other with Mr. Mansfield, to whom he was unable to give the same odds, and was defeated. Pettitt’s game is a model of good form, and delighted the spectators.

The play in the tournament proper demonstrated that Southern form is not yet up to Northern, for, as the contest approached the final round, it was found that the four men left to battle for the prize were all representatives of the North. They were Messrs. Mansfield, Miller, Hoppin, and Smith. The final round was contested by Messrs. Mansfield and Miller, and was won easily by the former, who thus became the second champion of the South for the year 1888. In this connection a word or two in praise of young Mr. Post is not out of place. Having already won the Southern championship at Baltimore, he might well have refused to risk the loss of that honor by competing in the Country Club tournament. Mr. Post showed true spirit in preferring to play, and although beaten in one of the early rounds by Mr. Hoppin, undoubtedly stands at the head of Southern players.

[Illustration: F. MANSFIELD, CHAMPION, HIGHLAND COUNTRY CLUB TOURNAMENT.]

The success of Mr. Mansfield was particularly gratifying to those who have been familiar with his undoubted skill in practice, and disappointed that he could not exhibit the same skill in tournament play. His experience demonstrates plainly that “confidence” is a most important factor in the success of a lawn tennis player. Mr. Mansfield’s trouble has been a lack of that factor. He has one day played a practice game of unusual strength and the next been beaten in a tournament by some player much his inferior in skill, and only by reason of lack of confidence in his own ability. Sincere modesty, such as Mr. Mansfield’s, will make a man extremely popular among lawn tennis players, but it may be regarded as a settled fact, that when two men, at all equal in skill, meet in a lawn tennis contest, the one who has the most thorough confidence in his own ability to win will surely be the victor.

The double event was won by Messrs. Mansfield and Hoppin, but in the final round Messrs. Davidson and Metcalf, the crack Washington team, gave a good exhibition of double playing and won one set from the victors. This brought to a close a most successful tournament, and the Northern players returned to their homes with a very high opinion of Southern hospitality. A feature of the visit, which will be remembered with much pleasure by all, was their call on the President of the United States. One morning about thirty of the players boarded a hay-cart, the property of that “same old negro” and drawn by two of his mules, were taken to Washington, shown all points of interest, and, finally, invaded the White House, where they were presented to President Cleveland.

As we leave Washington, with its multitude of small clubs, and arrive at Baltimore, after an hour’s travel by rail, a widely different condition of affairs is presented; for in this city the lawn tennis interest is almost entirely centred in two clubs, the Baltimore Cricket Club and the Towson Club of Towson, a suburb of Baltimore. Of these two, the Cricket Club is by far the more prominent. It is an old organization, having been founded in 1874, but it was not until 1878 that the club, then quite small in membership, leased grounds at Mount Washington, also a suburb of Baltimore and situated about six miles from the city, on the Northern Central Railroad. The railroad runs numerous trains to Mount Washington, and the drive to the club, through Druid Hill Park, is a most pleasant one.

As its name signifies, the Baltimore Cricket Club was originally organized for cricket purposes. But after lawn tennis was introduced as a club sport in the year 1879, that game rapidly became so popular with the members that the interest in cricket has decreased, a fate somewhat similar to that which has befallen this scientific game in our own St. George’s Cricket Club of New York. The rapid rise of lawn tennis in popular interest could not be more plainly demonstrated than by the experience of the Baltimore Cricket Club. Its tennis courts were originally laid out on a part of the cricket field, but the game became so widely played that it was found necessary, in 1884, to grade an additional plot of ground, to be used for tennis alone, upon which there are now ten excellent turf courts. This number was thought to be ample, but the past season has shown the necessity for still larger accommodation, and preparations are now being made for the construction of four dirt and four additional turf courts. A number of improvements were made during the past summer, the most important of which was the erection of a large and picturesque club-house, for the use of both tennis and cricket members. Ladies do not contribute to the finances or take any part in the management of the club, but become members by courtesy. A small house has been erected for their use, and some of their number, notably Miss Bonsal and Miss Latrobe, have shown much skill in lawn tennis tournaments of the North.

Tournaments open only to members of the club are usually held in the spring and fall. In these contests Mr. Leigh Bonsal has uniformly proved himself to be the club champion, until the past summer, when Mr. A. H. S. Post, the holder of the championship of the Southern Lawn Tennis Association, captured that honor. The last club tournament, a handicap, was held in October, 1888, and Mr. Post conclusively proved his superiority by winning it, though conceding considerable odds to all contestants. Mr. W. J. Bell and Mr. A. D. Atkinson, both very young players, won the doubles. Among other experts of the club are S. Taggart Steele, H. M. Brown, R. B. McLane, Jr., L. V. Lemoyne, Yates Pennington, and Frank Bonsal. With a total membership of over two hundred, and a lively interest in sports of every nature, the Baltimore Cricket Club is perhaps the most prominent athletic club of the South. Next in importance in Baltimore is the Towson Club of Towson, which does not boast of so many players, but embraces in its membership a number of those who also belong to the cricket club. It has seven good turf courts, and is particularly popular among ladies of the city.

At Wilmington, Delaware, is located one of the most flourishing clubs of the Southern section. The Delaware Field Club was organized in 1882, grounds were secured and buildings erected in 1883, and the club was incorporated in 1885. Since that time it has made its mark in the athletic world in more ways than one. Lawn tennis has always been the favorite sport of the members, and it now seems to be definitely settled that the lawn tennis world is indebted to the Delaware Field Club for the introduction of “progressive tennis,” a novelty founded on that once popular craze, “progressive euchre.”

[Illustration: A. H. S. POST, CHAMPION, SOUTHERN LAWN TENNIS ASSOCIATION.]

The club was one of the earliest to join the United States National Lawn Tennis Association, and in 1886 a tournament for the championship of the South, held on its grounds under the auspices of that association, was won by Mr. C. B. Davis, of Lehigh University. Mr. Davis was thus the first champion of the South, both in singles and doubles, for he also captured the latter event with Mr. R. H. E. Porter, of Lehigh, as a partner. An open tournament, held in 1887, was likewise won by Mr. Davis, but on this occasion his partner in the doubles was Mr. A. G. Thomson, of Philadelphia. The grounds of the club will accommodate at least twenty-five courts, and as many as eighteen are in almost constant use. Out of a total membership of two hundred, about eighty are active lawn tennis players, and in this number are included several ladies, the most expert of whom is Miss Florence Bayard, a daughter of Mr. Cleveland’s Secretary of State. Of the club tournaments, which have been held since 1883, Mr. W. S. Hilles has succeeded in winning three, including that of 1888, while Mr. J. E. Smith was known as club champion in 1887, and Mr. J. L. Tatnall in 1884. Other leading players of the club are Mr. W. C. Jackson, the present champion of Cornell University, Mr. H. B. Bringhurst, Jr., and Mr. A. H. Smith. It is now believed that the next annual tournament of the Southern Lawn Tennis Association will be played on these courts, and everything points to the continued prosperity of the club.

Looking back over these brief sketches of lawn tennis in Washington, Baltimore, and Wilmington, we find that tournaments for the championship of the South have been held since 1886. The following table gives, in a condensed form, the facts relating to those contests.

TOURNAMENTS FOR CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE SOUTH.

------+------------------+-----------------+-------------------- YEAR. | HELD AT | SINGLES CHAMP’S | DOUBLES CHAMPIONS ------+------------------+-----------------+-------------------- 1886. | Del. Field | | | Club. | C. B. Davis. | Davis & Porter. | | | 1887. | U. S. Mar. | | | Barracks, | | | Wash., D. C. | Leigh Bonsal. | Bonsal & Lemoyne. | | | 1888. | Balt. Cricket | | | Club | A. H. S. Post. | Bonsal & Lemoyne. | | | 1888. | Highland C. C., | | | Wash., D. C. | F. Mansfield. | Mansfield & Hoppin ------+------------------+-----------------+--------------------

The coming season promises to be a most interesting one to the lovers of lawn tennis throughout the United States, for it is hoped and expected that England will send some of her most expert and representative players to contest for our national championship at Newport. Let the South, also, send in its entries. Certain it is, that if the same interest and general improvement as has been shown during the past two seasons mark the future development of the game in that section, it will soon be able to send representatives who will win laurels among the most skilful.

[Illustration: CLUB HOUSE AND GROUNDS, WILMINGTON FIELD CLUB.]

SNOWSHOEING IN CANUCKIA.

BY JAMES C. ALLAN.

[Illustration: THE CLUB HOUSE.]

Snowshoeing is surely one of the most fascinating of sports. To the uninitiated it might appear strange that there should be any pleasure in ambling along over the snow in a manner somewhat resembling the ungraceful waddle of that unornamental bird, the domestic duck, and with feet hampered by the weight and the inconvenient form of a pair of ungainly snowshoes, so-called.

To a certain extent our captious critic would be right; the source of enjoyment is to be found in the accessories of the sport, and in the knowledge that under him are many feet of yielding snow, in which he would be helplessly floundering but for the aid of his trusty _raquettes_.

Then there is the peculiar indefinable charm of the winter scenery, the beautiful effects of the sunset on the dazzling expanse of snow, scenic effects perhaps even more entrancing when the pale moonlight casts ghostly shadows here and there, and brings into brilliant prominence some snow-crowned elevation in the landscape. I cannot do better than quote the glowing description which a noted American writer gives of the appearance of the country over which he tramped on one of his first excursions on “the merry snowshoe”:

“The mountain rose up behind us, covered with snow. Away toward the declining sun the landscape spread as far as the eye could reach, with low white hills away off on the horizon. Between the hills and the foreground flowed the river under its cover of ice. The red, wintry sun now low in the heavens, touched the prominent points of the rolling, snow-covered country with crimson, while the far-off clouds that stood motionless in the sky were of all the hues of the rainbow, and these varied tints were in turn faintly reflected on the broad expanse of spotless snow.”

The snow, let it be borne in mind, is not of the nature or consistency of that which falls in softer climes; it is so fine, so dry and loose as much to resemble flour, only infinitely whiter, and of dazzling purity.

[Illustration: MR. J. G. ROSS, CHAMPION SNOWSHOE RUNNER, CANADA.]

As many of my readers very probably have never seen a snowshoe, a short description of its form and construction may not be amiss. It consists, broadly speaking, of a framework composed of a long, narrow piece of hickory wood, over which is stretched a network of thongs, or cords, made sometimes of strips of deerskin dried and prepared in a peculiar manner, and sometimes made of the intestines of animals. This network is called the “gut.” The hickory rod of which the frame is to be made, after having been steamed and steeped in boiling water, and so rendered pliable, is placed edgewise and then bent round somewhat in the shape of a tennis-bat, with an oval-shaped front, and the two ends joined together at one extremity and tapering off to a point corresponding to the handle of the tennis-bat. The total length of the shoe is about three feet, the extreme width from thirteen to sixteen inches. Across the oval and fitted into the inside of the framework by mortises, are two bars or battens of wood, each of them five or six inches clear of either end. In front of that cross-bar nearest the fore part of the shoe is an open space, and over the bar a deerskin thong is fastened, forming an aperture for the reception of the great toe. The thong is then crossed over the top of the foot, passed around the ankle once or twice and then tied. This leaves the heel free to move in any direction; the toe works in and out of the opening in the shoe, and in lifting the shoe in making a step forward its weight rests on the toe. When placing the foot down again the toe touches the snow first. Occasionally the framework is adorned with tufts of many-colored wool.

The size and shape of the snowshoe varies according to the requirements or the taste of its owner. Some are nearly round and present a squat appearance; others again are long and narrow, and resemble somewhat in shape the Norwegian _ski_.

For a tramp over untrodden or “virgin” snow, of course a large shoe of considerable area is desirable; for racing purposes over a beaten track, a smaller shoe is used. The regulation width of a pair of racing shoes is not less than ten inches of gut; the weight, including strings, must not be less than one and a half pounds.

The Indians and the half-breeds seem to enjoy a monopoly of the manufacture of snowshoes, and of toboggans as well.

The snowshoe enabled them, in former days, to traverse with ease, when in pursuit of game or on the warpath, leagues of wilderness otherwise impassable in the winter season; the toboggan they used as a sledge on which to drag their provisions or to convey to camp their slaughtered game.

It is true that there is in use in Norway an implement somewhat similar to the American snowshoe, called a “_ski_,” and composed of a couple of long, narrow slabs of wood, one for each foot, painted and turned upward at both ends. The ski, however, is principally used for sliding down declivities and jumping crevasses; it is ungainly and awkward to use on level ground. The aid of a staff, or alpenstock, is necessary in skiing, and a description of it hardly comes within our province.

“Raquettes” was the name originally given by the hardy Canadian _coureurs du bois_ and the _voyageurs_ of the Hudson Bay Company to the snowshoe, and we can easily imagine of what inestimable value it must have been to these adventurous individuals in their trips of almost incredible length, difficulty and peril. To the present day hardly a farmhouse in all broad Canada is without its pair of snowshoes, and they are generally of the sturdy, old-fashioned kind, long and broad and substantial.

[Illustration: HOMEWARD BOUND.]

In hunting the moose and the caribou, in the wilder parts of the Dominion, the snowshoe plays an important part. The crust on top of the snow is insufficient to sustain the weight of these heavy animals; they break through it at every stride, its sharp edges lacerate their legs, and the hunter can follow their course guided by the blood-marks on the snow. Sustained by his trusty shoes, he soon overtakes the laboring game, and a well-directed shot puts it out of misery.

But it is in its aspect as a sport, as a means of healthful recreation, that we have principally to consider snowshoeing. Of late years many clubs have been formed all over Canada, and in those parts of the neighboring Republic favored with the slightest suspicion of the “beautiful,” and of all these the premier, in point of seniority, is the Montreal Club, founded in 1840, and composed originally of twelve members.

As Canada is the home of snowshoeing, so is Montreal, _par excellence_, the leading city of Canada in this branch of athletics, both on account of the severity and the long duration of its winters, the natural advantages possessed by the city as regards its situation, and the widespread devotion among its young men to sports in general.

And of all the hardy winter sports snowshoeing is easily the first. Tobogganing and skating rise in public estimation and decline, but snowshoeing, like Tennyson’s “Brook,” “goes on forever,” and is continually gaining ground, as any one who has been so fortunate as to witness one of those unique winter carnivals in Montreal, and to gaze upon the hosts of picturesquely clad athletic young “knights of the shoe” in their attack upon the marvelously beautiful ice castle may well believe.

[Illustration: _Old Time Rendezvous._]

In place of the one solitary club of twelve members in existence in 1840, Montreal may now boast of dozens. The old Tuque Bleue Club, _alias_ the Montreal, has now a membership of 2,000. The St. George has, perhaps, half that number; other principal organizations are the Emerald, Argyle, Le Trappeur, Le Canadien, St. Charles, Maple Leaf, Wolseley, Vandalia, Royal Scots, etc., while other Canadian cities are not far behind.

Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec, St. Hyacinthe, Winnipeg, Brandor, Souris and Portage la Prairie have all sent their representatives to the Montreal Ice Carnivals, and now St. Paul and Minneapolis, those twin cities of the American Northwest, have caught the fever and are enthusiastic in their emulation of their Canadian brethren.

A snowshoe club is organized in much the same manner as other athletic associations. It has its president, vice-president, secretary, treasurer, and last, but by no means least, its entertainment committee, whose pleasing duty it is to provide amusement for their fellow-members at the club rendezvous when half the tramp is over and the “boys” are resting previous to their return home.

The costume of the snowshoer is at once comfortable, singularly well adapted to its purpose, and picturesque in the extreme. The head is protected by a gaudy knitted woolen cap, with brilliant tassel, and is called a _tuque_, in the Norman French of the Canadian habitant, who used it first of all. Then there is a coat with capote, and knickerbockers made usually of white blankets with many-hued border. Of late years, however, colored blankets have come into favor and bid fair to rival the white in popularity. Around the waist the coat is drawn together by a sash; colored stockings and deerskin moccasins, and, of course, snowshoes, complete the costume. Each club is distinguished by some peculiarity in the uniform of its members; for example, the Montreal club affects a blue _tuque_, red sash and red stockings; the Knights of St. George, or the “Saints,” as they somewhat arrogantly style themselves, a purple _tuque_ with white stripes, purple sash, and stockings of Tyrian hue also. So with the other clubs.

[Illustration: _Rendezvous of To-day_]

An entire outfit, including complete costume and snowshoes, may be procured for less than twenty-five dollars, and the suit under ordinary circumstances will outlast several winters. Some of the boys who have plenty of cash, or better opportunities of obtaining the articles than the rest, invest in buckskin hunting shirts and fringed leggings. They are made by Indians and half-breeds in Manitoba and the Northwest, and are, of course, more expensive than the blanket suits.

In Montreal it is usual for each club to tramp out on one evening in each week, and to take a more extended tour across country on Saturday afternoons.

On the evening appointed for the tramp the boys meet at their club-rooms; shoes are strapped on, the president leads the way, the members follow in Indian file, and the whipper-in brings up the rear to give the novice or the lazy a lift, and off they go. Let us suppose we are taking the route usual for evening tramps, partially around and up over a spur of Mount Royal, thence across country for about a mile and a half to our rendezvous. The pace increases, and, excepting an occasional nip at one’s ears, Jack Frost is forgotten as we warm to our work. “Number off,” cries the president. “No. 1, No. 2,” and so on, until the whipper-in responds, “No. 60; all up.”

What a pretty picture the long line of ghost-like shadows makes, as it silently winds in and out in the light of the moon! Now they disappear from view for a moment or so as they plunge through brushwood; they race down gullies, clamber over fences and mount hills, until at last the goal of their desire is reached at mine host Lumpkin’s, or at the Athletic Club-house, where, after enjoying the programme provided by the committee, and perhaps refreshing the inner man, we take up our homeward march, and, our starting-point attained, separate for another week, or until the following Saturday afternoon.

It is a popular though erroneous idea among the uninitiated that snowshoeing in the night is done by torchlight. Torches are never used. This notion probably owes its birth to the fact that at the various carnivals snowshoers have used torches, purely, however, for effect, and rather against their will.

A new member of the club or a distinguished visitor is generally welcomed by his future comrades or his hosts by “bouncing” him. The victim is seized by as many as can lay hold of him and is unceremoniously flung skyward, or, more correctly, ceiling-ward, and on his descent from on high he is caught again and the ceremony repeated two or three times. He is not allowed to fall, however. He suffers only in his wind and perhaps his nerves.

In snowshoeing the fatigue and consequent stiffness are great at first, but with practice this soon wears off, and the motions become easy and rapid. Of course, it is hardly possible to travel on snowshoes as rapidly as afoot on dry ground, yet, nevertheless, the speed obtained is not inconsiderable, as the records of snowshoe racing will show. For the various distances these are as follows:

Min. Sec. 100 yards, 12 220 “ 26 440 “ 1 08 ½ mile, 2 33 1 “ 5 42½ 2 “ 11 52¾ 3 “ 20 18½ 5 “ 33 43

Mount Royal Steeplechase, distance about 2 miles, 500 yards, 17m. 20s.

The last record, as well as others, is held by Mr. James G. Ross, perhaps the fastest all-round amateur who ever buckled on the “raquette.”

It is not an uncommon thing, however, for clubs to traverse thirty, and even eighty, miles across country in a tramp. A tramp from Montreal to St. John’s is a regular annual event with the Tuque Bleues.

I will conclude by quoting the words of a well-known litterateur, who had been induced by the genial president of a certain club to come out for a tramp with his club:

“Thus briefly was I brought to know that our winter sports are a means of health and good spirits to all who take part in them. They quicken the circulation, clear the brain and lighten the heart. No such good is got out of the formal drill of a gymnasium as there is out of a snowshoe tramp or a toboggan slide, under the broad sky with pleasant companionship. Men with kinky spines, sluggish livers and narrow chests--get blanket suits, moccasins and snowshoes, and use them soon and often. They will dispel your pains and aches and gloomy views of life.”

[Illustration]

HOW TO CYCLE IN EUROPE.

BY JOSEPH PENNELL.

A desire for independent traveling is growing daily. The reasons for this are various. It may be the person who wishes to indulge the desire is eccentric and eager to make a show of himself. It may be economy which prompts him to leave a railway carriage and foot it. It may be because he imagines it to be “English, you know,” though let me assure him that this is one of the many myths about the English. Englishmen as a rule are not great cycling tourists. More Americans, comparatively, have toured in England and on the Continent than Englishmen themselves, and the number is increasing daily. Or it may be that the tourist wishes to see the country in the only way it can be properly seen; and this is probably why in the winter and the spring so many Americans write to me, as the representative in England of the League of American Wheelmen, and ask for information about roads and routes.

I presume this last to be the real reason for the growth of independent traveling, and I leave out of consideration all walking tours, because, after having walked in one year 500 miles and cycled nearly as many thousand, I feel justified in saying that walking is not for a moment to be compared with cycling. I may some day compare these two modes of traveling, but just now this is not my purpose. What I say about cycling applies equally well to riding and driving, though of course you cannot ride or drive continuously the same number of miles you can cycle. I can very well remember the state of dense ignorance concerning the means of independent traveling in Europe, in which I was six years ago, as well as the almost utter impossibility of obtaining any definite information. Six years, every one of which has seen at least one tour, have, however, given me some little experience.

If you are a rider of an American cycle, of course it will be necessary to bring your machine with you. Ask the steamship authorities whether to crate it or not. If it is a bicycle, and you carry it without crating, they may charge nothing. There is no duty on entering England; but if you ride an English machine, I should advise you to sell your present mount and make arrangements, either with the dealer you know in America or the firm itself in England, giving them three or four months to get your machine ready and to have it awaiting you at their agents in Liverpool, Southampton or Glasgow, or wherever you may land. Tell the makers what sort of a tour you propose taking, and you will probably find that they will understand your needs better than you. If, however, you are confident you know exactly what you want, you may be able to make suggestions.

Before leaving America--though I suppose what I say applies equally well to Australians--join the Cyclists’ Touring Club. From their offices you will receive a vast amount of useful information concerning your tour. You can also obtain route-books, maps, guides, etc. Americans should apply to F. W. Weston, Savin Hill, Boston, Mass.; Canadians to H. S. Tibbs, 26 Union Avenue, Montreal; Australians and Indians to S. A. Stead, 19 Tabley Road, Holloway, London, N. The subscription is the equivalent of two shillings and sixpence, and the entrance fee is another shilling. Any amateur cycler can become a member without trouble. Another thing to be provided is a Baedeker guidebook for the country over which you wish to tour. In it you will find the rates of the various hotels, and of course you will go to those which suit your pocket, remembering that now you are an independent traveler, and that if you do not like the outside of an hotel, there is no reason why you should go in. The C. T. C. hotels in England are mainly respectable, and with the hand-book you know where you are going. But the C. T. C. rates, except in the large towns, are frequently an advance upon the ordinary rates. You will find it almost impossible to obtain breakfast before eight o’clock in the morning, in many places before nine, without considerable trouble. A breakfast will cost from one to three shillings, according to the hotel: On leaving the hotel it is necessary to fee the boots and the waiter, but sixpence goes quite as far as half a crown.

In riding, keep to the left, Englishmen differing in this, as in so many other respects, from all creation. Do not ride on the side paths or you will be promptly arrested. It is useless to expect any cycler you meet to be more civil to you than the driver of any other conveyance. Cycling clubs in England are not what they are in America or on the Continent. Therefore you need not look for any of those attentions bestowed upon the touring cycler at home, though you may encounter some very delightful fellows. Of course, it is a very good thing to have letters of introduction.

At noon, in any save the large towns and on market days, you will not be able to get a hot dinner without waiting a long time. But you will probably find excellent cold roast beef, or you can eat a succession of lunches of bread and cheese and drink a modicum of bitter ale, called beer. My practice is never to eat much in the middle of the day when touring. The succession of small lunches and short rests is better than a single long one. Coffee taverns--that is, temperance houses--may be found everywhere, but they range from very good to very bad, and you had better investigate them before deciding to stay overnight. It is unnecessary and quite useless to bargain for anything in England. Your lunch will cost from sixpence to two shillings, and you should give the waiter a penny for every shilling. You will have to order your dinner in the evening in the majority of places, and in the small towns it is wiser to have what is called a “meat tea,” that is, a chop or a steak, one or two vegetables, jam and tea; or else a cold supper, that is, cold meat or fowl, salad, a tart and cheese.

If you arrive wet, you will find it possible to have your clothes dried, and very well too, as innkeepers in England rather expect to have to perform this duty. In fact you may receive many little attentions which are very pleasing, and there is a cozy, homelike feeling about an English inn which one finds nowhere else. It is not necessary to inflict the fact that you are an American upon everybody you meet; they have seen Americans before, and they probably knew it before you opened your mouth. I have seen it stated and hinted that one can obtain a room in an English inn or hotel for sixpence or ninepence a night. This is, of course, absurd. You can, if you go to a house with the sign “Accommodation for Travelers; beds, sixpence a night.” In the same way, in America, you can go to a station-house for nothing, or to a tramps’ lodging-house for almost as little. It is necessary to count upon spending about eight shillings or two dollars a day for touring in England; but it is possible to do it for half that amount, though not comfortably or decently. Even this is a moderate figure, and is less than the C. T. C. rate.

In London I can recommend the Charing Cross Hotel, and, I believe, Burr’s private hotel in Queen Square. There are thousands of hotels in London, but both of these are central, and can be reached on the wheel. London streets, however, require very careful riding, owing to the rapid driving, and, to the American, the fact that everybody seems to be on the wrong side of the road.

I have presumed that you are a practical cycler, and therefore that you will carry whatever you are in the habit of taking with you at home, or will send your baggage from one place to another as you do there. In England it is wiser to use the Parcel’s Post, as the express is very unreliable. Personally, I either ride a safety or a tandem tricycle, and, whether alone or with my wife, always carry every thing we want on the machine. We are consequently perfectly independent, and have been out for six weeks at a time.

On leaving England for the Continent, unless money is absolutely no object, you must go to France by Dieppe, Havre or St. Malo. By Calais or Boulogne the charges are extortionate, and you will have to pay in the custom-houses. The greater part of Belgium is paved with Belgian blocks, over which you cannot ride. To Holland you can go by way of Amsterdam, and I believe the riding is fairly good over the brick roads, but I have never been there. The principal attractions in Norway seem to be the cheapness and the scenery, and for both you have to walk about as much as you ride, which is not my idea of cycling. Anyhow, it cannot be compared to Switzerland, and the reason it is so much talked about in English cycling papers is because it is a fine pot-hunting ground for racing men.

Of Spain I am entirely ignorant, and the accounts of this country all contradict each other with the most wonderful unanimity. No reliable data of the roads have yet been obtained. I hope to go over them myself before long. But in the first place, to visit any foreign country you must understand something of the language, the more the better.

The following, which is a portion of an article I contributed to the _Pall Mall Gazette_ a short time since, contains all that need be said on touring in France: “You must provide yourself with good road maps, showing the main road, the _routes nationales_ and the _routes départementales_. There are, of course, byroads all over France--that is, _routes communales_ and _routes vicinales_--but it is never safe, save in the south, to make short cuts or detours or to trust to these byroads in any way. They are frequently as bad as the others are good. Stick to the high-road. Work out on your map the route you wish to follow. You can buy excellent road maps of Hachette or of Phillips. The maps sold by the Cyclists’ Touring Club are not up to date, and you are compelled to purchase four sheets when you may only need one. Recently I was detained in Avignon for having these maps in my possession, being told by the _préfet_ of the department of Vaucluse that it was illegal to carry them, as in France they are made and sold for the private use of the War Department. How true this is I do not know. I have usually carried them, and never before had any trouble. However, they are becoming rather out of date, and Hachette is bringing out new series all the time.

“Supposing you land at Dieppe, your machine will be taken to the custom-house, whither you should accompany it. If you can succeed in satisfying the officials that you intend to leave the country with your machine within three months, they will not charge you duty, and will not, unless you ask for it, give you a receipt. If you do get a receipt--this is, of course, the lawful method--you will be obliged to deposit 50f., only two-thirds of which will probably be returned to you when you leave the country. But the French Government has usually been very accommodating in this matter, though at Calais the duty or the deposit is nearly always demanded. If you wish to go by train from Dieppe, have your cycle registered, for which you pay a penny if it is under 56 lbs. Two people can take a tandem for the same money, if it is under 112 lbs. But do not stand on your dignity, and write to the papers, and make a frightful row, because the Swiss, German, and Italian railways compel you to pay a big price whenever you carry a cycle on their lines. Their rules are not those of France. In frontier stations you need never be surprised at any regulations.

“But let us suppose that you intend to ride away from the station at Dieppe. You are hungry, having been landed there at five o’clock in the morning. Have your coffee in any café on the Place, or in the very expensive one in the station. And this is the point where, if you want to live inexpensively, you must remember the customs of the country. In the station you never see a Frenchman, and on one occasion I paid two francs and twenty-five centimes for the privilege of having a pot of coffee and rolls and butter there. The next time, I went to a café in the street leading from the pier to the Place. It was full of townspeople, was more gorgeous, the coffee was equally good, and I paid seventy-five centimes. Why I should pay a franc and a half for having my coffee on the pier, I am unable to see. Cafés are always good, and charge just about half the price of an hotel or a station restaurant, and the French traveler, as a rule, does not take his coffee in the hotel unless he is in a great hurry. He goes to the café across the street, reads his morning paper, and pays half the price. The landlord does not object; it is the custom of the country. For lunch, if I know the town where I am going, I stop, not at the swellest restaurant on the boulevard, nor at the dirty _estaminet_ of the workman--I object to one as much as to the other--but at a decent, clean, middle-class restaurant, where it is the exception if I do not fare very well at the cost of about a franc and a half. And how do I find it? Either by using my own eyes, or by asking the first decent-looking man who comes along. If it is between half-past ten and one in the day he will probably be on his way to or from his own breakfast, and will be only too glad to show you the place. If you do not like the place, there is no reason why you should go in. If it is good, and the people are jolly and talkative, as they usually will be, ask them for a good hotel, of the sort they, as Frenchmen, would go to, in the town where you purpose to spend the night. They will tell you readily. It may be the first, or more likely the last, on Baedeker’s list; it may not be there at all. If it is a very swell place, don’t be afraid to go in if Frenchmen have recommended it; if it is very disreputable on the outside, and the proprietor in cook’s cap and apron rushes out to meet you, do not turn away, for he will probably greet you as warmly and give you as good a dinner as you have ever had in your life. You will find at the table a lot of jolly commercial travelers, who will take pleasure in giving you a list of hotels from one end of your route to the other. And what will it cost you? The dinner will vary from two and a half to three and a half francs, and your room from one and a half to two and a half, and there will be no extras. Totting this up, we have eight francs fifty for the day. Say you give the waiter half a franc. That makes nine.

“But the next night, being a touring cycler, you have not reached the town where you intended to stay, owing to something of interest on the road, or you have passed beyond it. You will stop in a decent, clean _auberge_ by the roadside--and you will find many--or in the best inn in the village, where your bill will be about four francs for lodging, dinner and coffee. And so, in the course of two or three weeks, instead of exceeding an average of seven francs a day, you will fall below it. This is the way Frenchmen do. This is the way men like Louis Stevenson have done. And this is the plan I like to follow; not to go to an hotel where one has to pay for the dirty swallow-tail and bad English of the waiter, the sham plate and the stupid _table d’hôte_; nor, on the other hand, to stint one’s self and to glory in saving a sou here and doing a man out of a franc there; but to quietly adapt yourself as much as you possibly can to the habits and customs of the people, of the middle and characteristic class, whose country you are visiting. If you do not like to do this and cannot afford the swell hotels, you had better stay at home.”

Very much the same conditions exist in Italy and Switzerland. In Italy, however, you must bargain for everything; you must even know how much your candle is going to cost you before you go to bed, and how much you are to pay for the waiter and chambermaid. In Germany one lives more in English style. The laws of the road are the same in all these countries as in America.

Many of the hills on the Continent, owing to their S-shaped curves, are very dangerous. In England one finds warnings everywhere for cyclers. You can ride or be pulled or pushed up behind a diligence over every pass in Switzerland that is used by vehicles. On the Continent you will find yourself everywhere legally treated as the driver of a carriage. Carry a passport, and do not regard all foreigners as fools and thereby make a fool out of yourself. Do not regard yourself as the first man who ever visited the place, and do not try to paint the town red. I admit these foreigners do not understand our little ways.

As to touring singly or with a party, that is your own affair, not mine; only I can warn you it is rather lonely work to cross a great country by yourself. If there is anything I have not made clear, write to me to the care of ~Outing~. I shall be only too glad to answer your questions.

[Illustration]

AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY.

BY ELLERSLIE WALLACE.

When we come to criticise photographs _as pictures_, we find that one great defect is to be found in their small size. It is true that the perfection of detail and fine finish compound for this in a measure, but it has often been said that one good print of 11 × 14 inches, or larger, is worth dozens of the little scraps made on 5 × 4 and 4 × 3 inch plates. It has lately become too much the fashion to advise the use of small sizes, and to depend upon some enlarging process when a print of good size is wanted. The idea of making small negatives and enlarging them afterwards seems fair enough, and it is, indeed, successfully done in many cases; but if such a size as 10 × 12 were settled upon, we should advise that the negatives be made direct, and the prints not enlarged from, say, 5 × 7 or 5 × 4 inch negatives. All experienced operators agree that the making of negatives for enlargement requires great skill and care. Remembering how greatly the cost of making photographs has been reduced, and what excellent outfits can now be had for a moderate sum, we feel justified in advising those who aim at good artistic results to begin boldly with plates of a fair size--certainly not less than 8½ × 6½, or, better, 10 × 8 inches.

Now, since the first thing to be considered in the selection of a photographic outfit is the size of picture desired, and the next the character of work to be done, let us here say that the difficulties of obtaining clean, good results increase with the increase of size to a certain extent, and the expense of making the picture increases very materially. Nevertheless, in spite of the various processes for making large prints from small negatives--enlarging processes, as they are technically termed--we repeat that we should not advise the purchase of very small cameras, unless mere amusement is the only thing to be considered. Plenty of fun can undoubtedly be had out of the little “detective” cameras now so commonly used, but more satisfaction will be felt in a nice collection of views or portraits on plates measuring, say, five inches by eight or ten inches by eight, the camera for which would be too large to be conveniently concealed as the smaller sizes are:

Since the introduction of the gelatine dry plate, and the consequent simplifying of the chemical part of the work, large-sized photographs may be made with far greater ease than formerly, and to those of our readers who have devoted any attention to art matters we will suggest one of the larger-sized cameras for plates, say fourteen inches by eleven, as offering more scope for the artistic treatment of fine subjects, particularly landscapes.

The size of plate and camera being settled upon, the next thing is to get a suitable lens, and this is often no easy matter. In most of the detective cameras the lens is supplied as a part of the outfit, but one intending to provide himself with a regular photographic apparatus ought to have some knowledge of lenses before purchasing. Without going into too great detail in the matter, we may say that some general distinctions between the different varieties of lenses should be borne in mind, as follows: (1) Lenses including an ordinary angle or amount of subject, say forty to fifty-five degrees on the base-line of the picture, and of tolerably long focus; and (2) wide-angle lenses including eighty degrees, or even more, and of very short focus. It would be natural for the purchaser to imagine that that lens which included most subject would be best, but as a general rule the contrary is true, namely, that the longer-focus lenses are the more practically useful and give the more pleasing pictures. There is another distinguishing characteristic between lenses that are “single” or “doublet.” The former are cheaper, but quite good enough for average landscape work, while the latter are indispensably necessary for architectural subjects and the accurate copying of anything like maps, plans, engravings, etc. To those who are disposed to be very economical, we may say that the front lens of an opera-glass will make excellent photographs. It should be unscrewed from the barrel, and set in a short tube with its flat side facing the view; or, in other words, it should have its position just reversed from what it was in the opera-glass. A stop of suitable size is then set in front of it at a distance equaling one-fifth of its burning focus.

It should be remembered that the _perspective of the photograph is made by the lens_, and cannot be altered by the operator, except in so far as he provides himself with a number of lenses of different focus and angle, so as to be able to treat different subjects with lenses suitable to their peculiarities, using each lens _pro re rata_, as the doctors would say.

It may not be generally known that experienced outdoor operators are pretty well agreed upon certain proportions between the focus of the lens and the size of plate, as affording the most pleasing pictures, and being most useful in the long run. We should thus choose an 11-inch focus lens for the 8½ × 6½ plate, a 9-inch for the 8 × 5, etc., or, in other words, _one whose equivalent focus was about equal to the diagonal of the plate_.[5] But let us take this occasion to say that we cannot too strongly insist upon the desirability of the photographer’s having more than one lens irrespective of the size or style of his pictures. We ourselves have worked with lenses of 11-inch, 7-inch, and 5½-inch focus on the 8½ × 6½ plate, and succeeded in a great variety of subjects. The 11-inch was probably used five or six times where the 7-inch was once, while the 5½-inch was only resorted to on rare occasions where the peculiarities of the subject required a very wide angle.

We enter into this matter at some length because the artistic qualities in landscape photographs will be found to depend in great measure upon the ability of the operator to include just the desired amount of subject on his plate from any given point of view; for the latter cannot always be changed so as to favor the lens. Then, also, it must not be forgotten that every change in the position of the camera will change something in the view; the whole character of the picture may be altered by shifting the apparatus a little in one direction or the other. A speaking proof of this is seen when examining the results obtained by the members of photographic clubs and societies after having been out for a field-day; here we often see two photographs of the same subject, where the men have stood side by side, one being complete as a picture, while the other fails in its effect simply because the lens has been a few inches or a few feet farther to the right or left, and has omitted or included some object which has been the making or marring of the picture.

Another prominent defect in photographs, taken as a whole, is that they are usually made in fixed sizes in spite of varieties or peculiarities of subject. How unpleasant it is in the case of a fine panoramic view, where the interest lies in the extended horizontal sweep rather than in the sky or foreground, to see things forced into a nearly square plate, say 10 × 8 inches, which gives entirely too much space above and below, with insufficient length! On the other hand, how empty the ends of a long, narrow 8 × 5-inch plate appear if some isolated and rather square object, such as a villa or group of trees, occupies the centre! Many a picturesque subject, dealing in high and narrow lines, will be utterly ruined if crowded on a square-shaped plate--street views in cities, for example, made near to churches with high steeples. Here we must either have a long, narrow plate, or use a lens of short enough focus to reduce the whole scale of the picture so that it can be afterwards trimmed to suit the subject. Here we see an additional reason why the plate should be of a good generous size to start with, and the outfit of lenses complete. If we had only a small plate on which to make the view, the trimming might make the finished print too small to be worth anything.

Let us now consider the shape of the picture, or plate, together with the proportions existing between its boundaries or sides, premising that while here and there a print may be trimmed square, circular or oval, to suit some particular subject, the oblong shape will be by far the most generally useful.

If we compare two plates, one measuring 8½ × 6½ inches and the other 8 × 5, we find that the diagonal line connecting two opposite corners is 1¼ inches longer in the former than in the latter. We also find that the former has a clear space 1½ inches wider than the other, extending over the whole of the long dimensions of the plate, together with another space half an inch wide at the narrow end. To put it in other words, the 8½ × 6½ plate differs from the 8 × 5 both in shape and in size, but offers considerably more surface with but a slightly longer diagonal. This latter has an important relationship to the covering or defining powers of the lens, for, supposing we wanted a lens to just cover the plate, we should have to select one the diameter of whose field or circle of light was equal to the diagonal of the plate--_not_ to its base line, for in that case the plate would not be covered. Again, if we desired a lens to give perfect sharpness up to the corners of a given size of plate, we should reckon by the diagonal, and not by the base line.

A little study of perspective is most highly to be recommended to those who desire their pictures to be truthful and pleasing. Now, by this we do not at all mean that our readers should wade through ponderous volumes filled with mathematical problems and long equations, but that they should, for instance, set themselves to consider such facts as the following: If an empty box be set on the end of a long table with its hollow facing the student, it will be observed that the bottom and the sides are in a certain proportion to each other, and that the lines of junction between them appear to recede at a certain angle. If the box now be moved up to within twelve inches of the face, these lines of junction will be seen to stand at much more obtuse angles, besides which the sides will appear broader in proportion to their height than when the box was at a distance. Let him now consider that the principles here involved would hold true in the photographing of street views, and many other subjects where both near and distant objects were included. For if a wide-angle lens be employed, all the receding lines in the picture, such as cornices of buildings, railroads, curbstones, etc., etc., will stand at much more obtuse angles than when a narrow-angle lens is used; the terms “wide-angle” or “short-focus,” on the one hand, and “narrow-angle” or “long-focus,” on the other, being indiscriminately used by the photographer.

This great obtuseness of angle in the perspective of pictures made with wide-angle lenses, is sometimes the cause of most unsightly and ridiculous pictorial failures. It will be seen at once that the objection to using very wide-angle lenses is that, owing to this great obtuseness of angle of the perspective lines, distant objects will appear unnaturally dwarfed in size, while those near at hand will come out immensely larger than they ought to. A few trials on street views with a lens including, say, eighty degrees of angle, with prominent objects close in the foreground, will soon prove the truth of what we have been saying, and sometimes well-known localities will be so changed in the photograph that no one would recognize them. We are thus met by the paradox that the perspective of the photograph, while mathematically correct, is false to the eye.

These ideas of perspective will be found very useful in photographing architectural subjects, wide-angle lenses often being indispensable here. Caution must be observed in using them on these subjects, however, for if the buildings stand in confined positions, where there is no room to move the camera backward, the picture will have an unnatural effect, and might be compared to the eye of an observer trying to see something that was too close for convenience.

In portraiture, the perspective will suffer very much if the distance between the sitter and the lens be too small, and the lens of too wide an angle. In this case, the cheeks will look too narrow in proportion to the length of the face, while the hands and feet will be absurdly larger than they ought to be if at all obtruded. The head, and indeed the whole figure, will look more rotund and more life-like if a fair distance--say twice the sitter’s height--is kept between the lens and the sitter. If this should give too small a picture, a lens of longer focus will have to be used. Objects look broader when taken near at hand with wide-angle lenses. Interior views of buildings, halls, etc., where there is plenty of room to keep the camera well back, will not be found difficult, but the interiors of small private houses and rooms will often be very unsatisfactory subjects because there is not room for the camera to be set well back and give a life-like, natural effect.

Photographs of long, narrow objects will be great failures in the pictorial point of view if the camera be brought too close, and so that the nearer portions are unduly magnified while the more distant become dwarfed in size. Here we see one of the principal reasons why the photographer should have lenses of different focus, so that if he is compelled to take an unfavorable point of view he may not be confined to one focus and angle.

To be continued.

[5] The equivalent focus of a compound lens is taken as equal to the focus of a _single lens_ which would form an image of the same size.

EVOLUTION OF FORM IN COLLEGE ROWING.

BY E. M. GARNETT.

I.--~The Harvard Stroke.~

~Scientific~ rowing may be properly called a modern luxury. It may be said, with a moderate degree of certainty, that neither the Greeks, the Romans, nor yet the early English, were in the habit of pulling themselves about in ten-inch shells provided with anti-crab swivel rowlocks and ball-bearing slides. Had any one of them been caught in such an act he would have been condemned, in all probability, to drink the hemlock, or worshipped as a wizard. Of course, from time immemorial there have been certain vague principles regulating the application of the weight of the body to the oar. But up to the time when that eccentric genius lubricated the seat of his boat and the seat of his trousers with some fatty substance, and slid his greasy way to victory, rowing was much more a matter of brute strength than of exquisite skill. And with the evolution of the sliding seat from the crude but effective idea, possibilities were offered for great improvements in the art of pulling an oar. During the last twenty years new inventions and radical changes in the rigging of boats have necessitated a departure, not only from former methods of rowing, but also from its recognized tenets. The principles are not immutable--as some would have us believe. For example, it is a physical impossibility, with some styles of rigging, to apply much power at the end of the stroke. Still, different systems have their ardent supporters, and the superiority of one over another is apparently a mooted question.

According to some aquatic enthusiasts, it is the best plan to let the men get into a boat and pull: time and a little intelligence will remedy their faults. Others urge that it is only necessary to master “the few essential principles,” and, as Mr. Julian Hawthorne says, “the refinements will take care of themselves.” Still others, who treat with withering scorn the opponents of “form,” lay great stress upon the absolute importance of sedulous attention to the minutest details.

In support of this first view, numerous instances have been cited of rough, awkward professional crews “yanking” and “yawing” their way in ahead of the best trained and disciplined amateur oarsmen, and, as one writer upon rowing aptly says, “casting despite upon the traditions of the art.” Indeed, until recent years it has been the current belief that a good amateur crew was no match for a set of skilled professionals. And the apparent truth of this opinion was never better illustrated than by an impromptu race rowed on the Charles River in ’78 or ’79--I forget the exact date--between the famous Bancroft crew and eight of the best oarsmen that could be gathered together from the purlieus of Boston. It is true the professional crew was made up of such celebrities as Ross, Plaisted, Gorkin, Faulkner, etc., but before that morning they had never sat together in a boat. Their boat, by the way, differed utterly in rigging from those they had been accustomed to, and, in fact, was the worst and most dilapidated the Harvard Boat-house could afford. After a preliminary “paddle” down to the starting-point--the Brookline Bridge--the race was rowed over the regular two-mile course. Well, it is related--and I have it from one of the victors--that by the time the celebrated Harvard crew reached the Union Boat-house their untutored rivals had carried their boat into the house and were nonchalantly wiping her off.

Now, why did this crew, composed as it was of the heaviest and strongest men that had ever sat in a Harvard boat, who moreover, by their irreproachable “form,” had crowned themselves with glory at New London, allow themselves to be so lamentably defeated by a set of men who labored under almost every possible disadvantage? Evidently there was some potent influence at work. Although the hardy and callus-fisted members of the professional crew gained a precarious livelihood in arts which did not sap their physical vigor, yet the superior endurance of the crew as a whole can hardly be urged as an excuse for such an overwhelming defeat in a two-mile race. We are left the bitter alternative, then, of shocking the æsthetic sensibilities of our amateurs by the inevitable conclusion that the professionals possessed superior skill.

Now, intelligent amateur, before turning away in disgust, reflect a moment. What is skill? What is form? Are they synonymous?

Skill is that which in almost every sport--in sparring, in fencing, in wrestling, in baseball, in tennis, etc., etc., other things being equal--enables one to win. Like elegance in writing, it is “the exquisite adaptation of means to ends.” In rowing it is that management of the body and oar--other things being equal, of course--which is conducive to the greatest speed of the boat.

“Form” in rowing is not so easily defined--for what would satisfy the most rigid exactitude in one system would be found defective in another. In general terms, however, it may be called, in crew rowing, “the graceful and nice management of the body and oar which contributes most to the appearance of similarity and uniformity throughout the crew.”

Now, it is true the professionals did not row with backs as straight, nor with a swing as even as the canons of good “form” call for, but they possessed the all-important secret of economizing all their strength and time. They not only knew how and when to apply their weight to the oar, but were fully alive to the necessity of holding the oar in the water no longer than it could do good, and in the air as short a time as possible. These and other less perceptible virtues, which such a constellation of aquatic lights will always possess, are generally obscured by the rugged and uncouth appearance of their body work.

But this body work, as far as the effect is concerned, though by no means all that can be desired, is not so very bad after all, for the swing of one man across the boat is counteracted by the swing of another. This fact, coupled with the firm, strong, simultaneous finish of the stroke, will effectually prevent the rolling of the boat.

On the other hand, the Harvard crew, whose “form” would have sent an æsthete into rhapsodies of praise, were skillful enough in their own peculiar way, but their rowing itself was unskillful because radically wrong in principle. But didn’t it enable them to win at New London? Yes, to be sure; but always against the same system or an inferior one.

The defeat of a well-trained amateur crew by a set of professionals does not, then, necessarily bring the traditions of the art of rowing into disrepute. “Form” without skill must always succumb to skill without “form.” The combination of the two should be the goal of the aquatic ambition. And the one need not be detrimental to the other. It is all very well to scoff at “form” and rest placidly content to let the refinements take care of themselves. They won’t, and the result will be a lot of irremediable faults.

In sparring, or, still better, in fencing, what is called direction, _i. e._, the precision of one’s aim, will be greatly affected by the slightest deviation of the hand from its proper position. The man who adheres to this principle through all the complications of attack and defense will be indeed a formidable antagonist. A master must pay the strictest attention to the details of his art. Then why not in rowing, where the object is to get in ahead of your adversary, and where the lightest touch of the flat of the blade to the water will add its mite to diminish the speed of the boat? Besides, the acquirement of the details will always add zest to one’s pleasure in the sport. Few sensations, indeed, are more pleasing than that of shooting through the water in a frail shell with a clean, strong sweep of the oars, especially when that sensation is flavored by a consciousness of a complete mastery over the situation.

To become an adept in the art of rowing does not demand the patience of a Palissy, nor yet the sagacity of a Socrates. True, a certain class of men of rare physical and intellectual torpidity will never master the correct methods, but to a man moderately well endowed as to mind and body, they are quite accessible.

Perhaps those practical gentlemen who scout the idea of “form,” and seem to believe that by some secret process sufficient excellence will be attained if the men get into a boat and pull, are like some of George Eliot’s good people of Raveloe, who supposed “there was nothing behind a barn door because they couldn’t see through it.”

Now, the essential thing is to first get hold of the correct principles of rowing, and then apply the refinements to them. The result will be a winning crew every time. And this happy combination and its inevitable consequences were brought about for the first time in the history of college boat-racing at Harvard in ’85. That is to say, the principles involved in the stroke of that year are the best that have yet been discovered. They, the principles, mind you, are identical with those believed in by Hanlan, the father of them--Teemer, Gaudaur, O’Connor, and all the crack scullers of the present day. And these principles, the fruits of years of experience and unremitting toil in the acquirement of a method that would enable men to win races and their daily bread, it is natural to suppose, should be pretty nearly correct.

It is a great mistake to believe these men so deficient intellectually that they are forced to rely principally upon brute strength to put their boats through the water at the highest possible rate of speed. Rowing is not such a subtle and complex thing as all that. Is it not, to say the least, a bit of conceit on the part of amateurs to presume that with all their transcendent intellect they can, by a few years of intermittent devotion to a sport, acquire a more rational knowledge of it than men like Hanlan, who give their lives to it?

It is the same with professionals in any sport--in sparring, in fencing, in baseball, etc.--what amateurs can compete successfully with them?

But let us see what prodigy was warmed into being by the genial light of correct principle.

Until 1885, college boating-men had failed--inexplicable it almost seems--to keep pace with the modern improvements in rigging and consequent advance in the science of rowing, which professionals had been for some years familiar with. They were under the able tuition of Mr. Faulkner, the veteran but progressive coach and bow-oar of both the champion “four” of America and of the champion “pair-oar” of the world, and adopted “in toto” the rigging and system which had won him such marked distinction. The result surpassed their most sanguine expectations.

After the new stroke had been pretty well mastered, a series of impromptu races with the best crew of professionals that could be scraped from the Charles was gotten up. This crew was composed of Hosmer, Faulkner, Gorkin, Casey, and others, including the burly Jake Kilrain, an oarsman as well as pugilist, and now at the summit of his fame. As they were given the _best_ shell in the boat-house, and _one week_ in which to _rig_ it and “_get together_,” they were really superior to the crew which so mercilessly defeated the Harvards in ’78. Well, the Harvard crew not only forced them to take their back-wash for two miles, but in a number of half-mile spurts cleared them each and every time a full boat-length in the first quarter mile. Pretty conclusive evidence, is it not, taken in connection with the unusually light weight of the ’85 crew, and the comparatively _short time_ they had _rowed together_ under the _new regime_, that the new system was superior to the old?

It proves abundantly, also, that “form” and skill will triumph, even in a spurt, over skill alone. Some one--that is, some one who _did not_ see these races--will say, perhaps, “Oh, the professionals allowed themselves to be beaten!” For the benefit of the more skeptical, I will say, that on one occasion, when the struggle of the professionals was more than usually hopeless, I had the distinguished honor of occupying a vicarious position in the bow of their boat. The genial Jake Kilrain, who, by the way, oftentimes, in a spirit of jocose repartee, has beaten me cruelly about the head, was, besides myself, the only amateur (oarsman) in the boat. Spurred on by our frantic stroke’s disgusted and unorthoepical plaint, “Aw, yoose amatoors don’t back me up!” we leaped madly against the stretcher at the rate--it seemed to me--of about fifty-five strokes to the minute. No! there was no lack of sincerity in that boat.

Moreover, the pride of a professional is wounded to the quick when an amateur happens to subvert the natural order of things by defeating him. Indeed this particular set, in an ebullition of amazement, admitted that the “amatoors” could show their rudder to the best professional crew that ever sat in a boat. But so long as the professionals, no matter what principles of rowing they may build their faith upon, persist in sacrificing “form” to skill, so long must they suffer defeat at the hands of a crew who preserve both these elements.

As the two leading universities, Harvard and Yale, have experimented in the last five years with every recognizable system of rowing, from the slow, stately and intensely amateurish English stroke to a hideous exaggeration of the professional style, the history of college boat-racing during this period will afford the best means of illustrating and demonstrating the superiority of one method over another. Let us gird on our polemical armor, then, and enter the lists.

There is probably no athletic event in America which excites such universal interest and enthusiasm, among amateurs at least, as the annual boat-race between Harvard and Yale, on the Thames.

Weeks before the “eventful day,” windy interviews with the Nestors of the rowing world appear in the daily papers, rooms are engaged at the hotels in and about New London, the enviable owners of yachts prepare for the sail, and every one is speculating upon the chances of his favorite college adding to its list of victories. “Straight tips” and wiseacres are equally plentiful, and equally inefficient in increasing one’s store of knowledge.

At the race the river is dotted with gayly bedecked steamboats, yachts, and small craft of every description, the banks are lined with people, and the observation train, which from a distance looks like a huge colored snake, is a blue and crimson mass of bunting-waving, horn-tooting, yelling, frenzied collegians. It is not an exaggeration to say that fully fifteen thousand people annually witness the race.

Is it not strange that among all this crowd of intensely interested, over-excited spectators it would be extremely difficult to find a single person sufficiently informed to give one an adequate explanation of the causes leading to the defeat of one crew by another? For, especially when there is a great discrepancy in the times made by the two crews, there is always a reason beyond the overstrained condition of No.----, the slowness of the boat, or the eel-grass course, why one crew should cross the finish line a quarter of a mile in the lead.

But no! the spectators, though their native fancy for mystification is tickled by the triumph of skill and “form,” are quite impermeable to their constituent elements. They seem to follow the principle laid down in Hudibras, that

“Still the less they understand, The more they admire the sleight of hand,”

for they certainly seem more delirious than their more experienced fellow-men.

It is not remarkable that men who acquired their knowledge of rowing when the art was in its infancy, and quite innocent of the time and labor saving contrivances now in vogue, should allow their ideas to grow rusty or fail to keep abreast of the times. It is rather extraordinary, though, that many college boating-men of to-day, who have had ample opportunity to study the principles involved in the various strokes, should be unable to elucidate the reasons for their

## particular styles of rowing. And this sad fact has been the indirect

cause of some of the most disheartening defeats at New London.

There has always been at college a sort of Bœotian haziness of ideas regarding the merits of this or that way of pulling an oar. And while the last few years--thanks to Mr. Storrow--have seen a certain development in the inquisitive instincts of college boating-men, indecision and uncertainty as to the virtues of the different systems of rowing seem still to prevail at Harvard.

The mooted question of superiority is confined practically to the English style of rowing; that introduced in ’85 by Mr. Storrow, and the so-called Bob Cook stroke.

In the following brief sketch of what the last five years of college boating can show, let it be borne in mind by those who see their long-cherished convictions ruthlessly attacked, that all excuses for the defeat of one crew by another must be considered as necessary adjuncts to the attempted demonstration.

In 1883, Yale, under the tutelage of that aquatic Archimedes, Mike Davis, made a radical departure from the stroke which had been brought over from England some years previously by Mr. Cook, and introduced, with slight modifications, at both Yale and Harvard.

Although this stroke, which had failed to bring victory to Yale in ’82, was almost the same in principle as that which defeated her, and, therefore, could not be held responsible for the defeat, yet she saw fit to discard it for the unique ideas of Mr. Davis.

The boat was made unusually long, to provide for a novel method of seating the men in pairs, all of Mr. Davis’s latest inventions were introduced, and phenomenal results were expected. Whatever good there may have been in these inventions, the fact remains that in the race Yale rowed a short, rapid, jerky stroke, while Harvard adhered to the long, slow, English style, and won with comparative ease.

The experiment having failed, the next year Yale returned to her former method of rowing. But, aided by her experience of the past, as well as by a few valuable hints, it is said, from one of the famous Ward crew, she had the rare good sense to improve upon her previous conception of the English or Bob Cook stroke--for the sake of convenience, I shall call it English at present. As to the exact share Mr. Ward had in the amendment I do not speak with authority, but regarding the character of the difference between the strokes rowed that year by Yale and Harvard I speak whereof I know.

After the first two miles it was patent that Yale had the race well in hand. Her oars were in the water longer and in the air a shorter time than Harvard’s. Every man in her boat threw his weight more directly against the stretcher, and instead of holding his slide on the recover until his arms were straightened and the body was swung forward from the waist, he diminished materially the time the oar would otherwise have been in the air by starting his seat and shoulders immediately after extending his arms. He used his legs more, and “hung” less at both ends of the stroke. The slow, stately sweep of the Harvard crew succeeded in bringing them in about fifteen lengths behind their happy rivals.

It is true, the speed of the Harvard boat was affected by a number of important changes which she was compelled to make, prior to the race, in the composition and seating of the crew. But despite this fact, which could not alone account for such an overwhelming defeat--especially as the substitutes were good oars--she had the strongest and heaviest crew that ever represented a college.

In 1885, as we have seen, there was a revolution in rowing at Harvard. It was not until the early part of winter that Mr. Storrow, in the face of a certain amount of passive opposition, took the rather daring step, by engaging Mr. Faulkner as coach, of throwing overboard all those principles which, it is supposed, had won Harvard many a splendid victory. An entirely new system of rowing was inaugurated, and there was much grumbling and dubious head-shaking at the issue. Yale, on the contrary, was highly elated at Harvard’s adoption of the “professional” stroke. Her crew, be it said, was deemed so strong as to earn the appellation of the “Yale giants,” while Harvard’s was not only unusually light, but, with two exceptions, was composed of men who had never before sat in a ’Varsity boat. Save with the brave but meagre minority who believed in the new régime, up to a week before the race Yale’s success was a foregone conclusion. Well, the race, as one disappointed wearer of the blue expressed it, was a “procession.” Yale, vulgarly speaking, carried the bucket. Harvard jumped into the lead the moment her oars struck the water, and though averaging about thirty-four strokes to the minute after the first spurt, to her opponent’s thirty-seven, increased her lead at every stroke. On the last mile there were twenty-five boat lengths between the two crews. Harvard’s rowing was remarked upon, though little understood, by all who saw the race. So little effort was apparent in her style, that the uninitiated were at a loss to account for the speed of her boat. While it was manifest that the “Yale giants” were not as well trained as the Harvard men, it was palpable to the merest tyro that the immense distance between the two crews was due to causes other than the physical condition of the rowers. Although, be it remembered, Yale had _improved somewhat_ upon the English stroke, yet the laborious wastefulness of her style was in sharp contrast to the _ease_ and _dash_ of the Harvard stroke.

The moment Harvard’s blades gripped the water every man in the boat, with a spring from the stretcher and simultaneous heave of the shoulders, threw his whole weight into the oar, and kept it there until the stroke was finished. The blades were covered throughout the stroke, and remained in the air as short a time as was consistent with the avoidance of “rushing” the slides. There was hardly the slightest perceptible “hang” of shoulders or hands at either end of the stroke. Although the body work was not all that could be desired, the “watermanship” or action of the blades was as smooth as the stroke of a piston-rod.

On the other hand, after making all due allowance for the air of general wretchedness which always surrounds a defeated crew, and for the halo of perfection about the victors, Yale’s rowing was really bad. Before the last mile was reached the desperate tugging of her men, the not infrequent splashing of her oars, and other symptoms of fatigue, showed plainly that the pace was too hot for her labored style of rowing. But her reputation for pluck and doggedness was never better sustained. In spite of the conscious hopelessness of the struggle, her efforts throughout the race were titanic.

After the race the usual exculpatory rumors developed the intelligence that the stroke of the Yale crew had been lifted from a sick-bed, and supported, tottering and nerveless, to his seat in the boat. Either this was a laudable attempt to apotheosize Mr. Flanders, or else his powers of recuperation must have been miraculous, for no man ever pulled a pluckier and more apparently powerful oar.

The next year, 1886, Harvard went down to New London with her crew of ’85, with a single exception, presumably strengthened by an additional year’s experience. Yale, on the other hand, had a comparatively new set of men. The race was the closest for several years, but ended in the defeat of Harvard by about _five lengths_. This may seem incomprehensible at first sight, but Harvard labored under a combination of untoward circumstances, which alone were enough to account for a defeat of _five lengths_. She was compelled by an accident which happened to her shell prior to the Columbia race, to row in an old class tub, which possessed the additional defect of _shorter slides_ and _outriggers_ than her _style of rowing called for_. The shorter stroke, which this change necessitated, was visible to all who saw the race. Add to this the fact that, through Yale’s aversion to rough water, the race was postponed and rowed up the river in the evening; that Yale, who had the east side, where the swift current which with the incoming tide flows up the course for a mile and a half, was permitted to jump ahead at the start; that Harvard had the dead water on the west side; that in spite of her rough water and ill-rigged tub, after Yale had left her lively current, Harvard gained four or five lengths upon her, and we have sufficient reasons to account for a defeat of _five lengths_. Nor is this all. The hopes of the advocates of the English or Bob Cook stroke, so-called, must fall to the ground like wilted rose-leaves when it is considered that Yale rowed as _nearly the same stroke_ as Harvard as close attention and the exercise of some intelligence during a limited time could make it. If the diligent reader of newspaper interviews doubts this truth he should have been at the Thames during the race weeks of ’85 and ’86.

In noticeable contrast to her “watermanship” of previous years, and in a laudable attempt to improve upon it, Yale exaggerated the rather flat feather of the Harvard oars. But she had almost mastered the idea, so conspicuously absent in the English stroke, of throwing the whole weight of the body, the moment the oar gripped the water, directly against the stretcher. Had the race been rowed in the rough water and wind of the morning, the exaggerated feather, the noticeably longer “hang” at both ends of the Yale stroke, and the weaker “finish”--which last fault must always fail, against a strong wind, to keep the boat jumping between the strokes--would have conspired to defeat her.

In 1887, Harvard, after winning an exciting victory from the fastest crew Columbia ever sent out, and lowering the intercollegiate record, was again defeated by Yale, this time by about seven lengths. Her twice happy rivals deserved all the approbation showered upon them by their overjoyed supporters, for their rowing was magnificent. They had almost the same crew as in the previous year, and had still further modified their style in conformity with the stroke rowed by Harvard in ’85. Indeed, to connoisseurs the only perceptible differences between these two strokes were the longer “hang” of the Yale oars before entering the water, the slightly stronger “catch,” the slower start of the shoulders on the “recover,” and the weaker finish. As the wind blew down the course, these defects did not tell against her. As for her time, it would have delighted the rhythmic sensibilities of a Wagnerian.

Harvard, on the contrary, through her inability throughout the year to secure the regular services of a coach, and on account of her comparatively raw crew, did not adhere as closely in practice as in theory to the standards of ’85. After the first two miles, the punishing work her rather young crew[6] had undergone _three days previously_ in the Columbia race began to tell upon her. They began to “clip” still more off their already short stroke, and their rowing became slightly ragged.

These reasons will answer the question, “Why was Harvard defeated _by seven lengths_?” and, taken in connection with the fact that Yale rowed in a boat as similarly rigged as Harvard’s as a foot-rule and the faculty of imitation could make it, will deal a death-blow at any marked individuality which the Yale or Bob Cook system of rowing may now be said to possess. Waters, of Troy, is the boat builder to both colleges. The innuendo, I hope, is quite fathomable.

It is not my intention to cast any slur upon Yale. Indeed, her whole progressive course under the skillful guidance of Mr. Cook, who knows a good thing when he sees it, but is not the aquatic god some would make him, has been marked by rare good judgment. I am merely marshaling my evidence for a final onslaught upon the system of rowing in vogue before ’85.

In 1888, a committee of four graduates, only one of whom had rowed in recent years, was appointed to take charge of boating matters. Naturally enough they strove to inculcate in the crew those principles with which they were most familiar, viz., those which pertained to the English or Bancroft system of rowing. Despite the fact that the method introduced by Storrow had brought about the overwhelming defeat of the Yale giants in ’85, despite the manifest adoption by Yale of the essential features of this method, and her consequent successes, and despite the marked improvement in the speed of the boat since ’85, the crew of ’88, we are told, endeavored to “_unlearn the radically wrong principles_” of the three previous years. The endeavor was pre-eminently successful, and what was the result? A crushing defeat, such as had never been seen upon the Thames. At one time in the race there was almost half a mile between the two crews. Yale, naturally enough, retained the principles, the efficacy of which she had tested, and gave even a better exhibition of rowing than the Harvard crew of ’85.

My standpoint is well illustrated by a letter to the New York _Spirit of the Times_ of September 29th, upon “Why Yale beats Harvard.” The letter is written by a man “who has done for Harvard good work with the oar.” Among other good things he says (the italics are my own): “The Yale and Columbia crews of 1886 beat Harvard _after close races_ because they adopted to a considerable extent the _same system and ideas_ that Storrow had taught Harvard the year before. Yale beat Harvard again last year because she still believed in and practiced the same system, while Harvard seemed to have _endeavored to forget as much of it as possible_. The _contrast_ between the styles of rowing of the Harvard and Yale crews in the race was _most striking_. The Yale crew carefully covered their oars at the beginning of the stroke, and kept them covered to the end, maintaining a firm pressure throughout, the appearance of their oars in the water reminding the observer of the Harvard crew of ’85, but otherwise their work was far superior to the Storrow crew. The Harvard crew seemed to have forgotten the accepted principles that govern the management of the oar in the water; their blades made a _complete circle_, and but a _small arc_ of its circumference entered the water, the oar being _fully covered but an instant of time_. In their _body work they followed the principles taught by Bancroft_, but did not attain the smoothness which Bancroft himself, and his more skillful pupils acquired. In this respect they _tried to follow the English system_, and seemed to _have adopted the English style of rigging_, for their slides were noticeably shorter than those of the Yale crew. The whole course of the committee clearly showed their incompetency to direct the crew.” And again: “It is reported that before coming to New London they rowed a series of races with a scratch crew, composed of substitutes and old rowing-men about Boston, and _were beaten again and again_, although the men in the scratch crew _had never before sat together in a boat_.”

Rather a striking coincidence with the feat of the ’78 crew who rowed the same stroke, is it not?

So much for what the history of college boating during the past five years can show. The supporters of the English system of rowing are welcome to any solace they may derive from a perusal of it.

It seems incredible that any doubt as to the superiority of one system of rowing over the other should still linger in the minds of Harvard men.

But the result of last year’s race leaves them, no doubt, “more troubled than the Egyptians in a fog.”

To be continued.

[Illustration]

[6] The average age of the Harvard crew was about 21, the stroke being 18; while Yale’s average was about 24, her stroke being 29.

[Illustration: STATE-COACH OF QUEEN ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND.]

COACHING AND COACHING CLUBS.

BY CHARLES S. PELHAM-CLINTON.

[Illustration]

In “Tom Brown’s Schooldays,” that ever-popular book, there is a sketch of coaching which stands unequaled for concise and graphic description, and which will bear repetition. Tom was starting for Rugby by the coach, and his father is seeing him off. They hear the ring and rattle of the four fast trotters and the town-made drag, as it dashes up to the “Peacock.”

“‘Anything for us, Bob?’ says the burly guard, dropping down from behind and slapping himself across the chest.

“‘Young gen’l’m’n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; hamper o’ game, Rugby,’ answers the hostler.

“‘Tell young gent to look alive,’ says the guard, opening the hind-boot and shooting in the parcels, after examining them by the lamps. ‘Here, shove the portmanteau up atop--I’ll fasten him presently. Now then, sir, jump up behind.’

“‘Good-bye, father--my love at home.’ A last shake of the hand. Up goes Tom, the guard catching his hat-box and holding on with one hand, while with the other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot! The hostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the collar, and away goes the ‘Tally-ho’ into the darkness, forty-five seconds from the time they pulled up.”

Considerable more romance about this than a departure from the Grand Central or Jersey City depots. There was much fun on the road in those days, and the jehu generally had a stock of old jokes that he let off at the box-seat passenger day after day. For instance, a crusty and stingy old curmudgeon who had neglected to “dampen the whistle” of the driver in the proper fashion, and who grumbled at the wet weather, would be greeted with, “Why don’t you invest a penny in a Yarmouth bloater? and you’ll be dry all day, I’ll warrant.” Things are more staid now, and the Irish coachman who demanded “Shall I pay the ‘pike’ or drive at it?” is happily gathered to his fathers, and life and limb are in the hands of a less humorous but more sober set of drivers.

From one source I learn coaches were first introduced into England in 1580 by Fitzallan, Earl of Arundel, before which time the customary mode of travel was on horseback. The Queen used to ride on a pillion behind her chamberlain. Another history says that in 1564, Booner, a Dutchman, became Queen Elizabeth’s coachman, proving that she must have had a coach. In 1619, however, things had so improved that Buckingham drove a coach and six.

A very authentic history says that the first coach in England was built in 1555, for the Earl of Rutland, by Walter Rippon. This maker must have been the Brewster of his day, as he made a coach for Queen Mary, and in 1564 built a state-coach for Queen Elizabeth, presumably the one that the above Booner drove. Hackney-coaches came into vogue in 1605, and in 1640 the stage-coach was first adopted. It was built to carry six or eight persons, and was hung upon leather straps.

In 1662 six stage-coaches were running, and in 1673 stage communication was started between Exeter and Chester and London. No less an authority than Sir Walter Scott says that in 1755 the speed of a stage was frequently but four miles an hour. A year previous to this, however, steel springs had been invented, and in 1784 it is authentically stated that the average speed was eight miles an hour. Prior to this rapid increase of speed, the Lord Mayor of London’s state-coach was built in 1757, and weighed the trifle of three tons, sixteen hundred-weight. In 1762 a royal state-coach was built for George III. which weighed four tons, and which is still used on full state occasions, being drawn by eight cream-colored horses.

Through the efforts of Mr. John Palmer, M.P. for Bath, in 1784 the mails were entrusted to the care of the coaches, the first mail-coach leaving London on the 8th of August of that year. Until 1834 the mail-coaches were not allowed to carry more than three outside passengers, while the ordinary stages carried four inside and fourteen outside.

[Illustration: STATE-COACH OF KING CHARLES II. OF ENGLAND.]

It was at this period that gentlemen began to “tool” not only their own but public coaches, and the amusement, which in many cases combines business with pleasure, has been continued ever since. Smedley, the novelist, creates a character in “Frank Fairleigh,” under the name of the Hon. George Lawless, who shows how thirty to fifty years ago this fashion had come into vogue.

The spirit of the times was such that in 1807 the first club was established, under the name of the Bensington (_Oxonicé_ Benson) Driving Club, the number of members being limited to twenty-five. There were four meets in a year--two at the White Hart, Bensington, near Oxford, and two at the Black Dog, Bedfont, near Hounslow. There was no annual subscription; but each member paid £10 on his election. After the first sixteen years of the club’s life, the meetings were entirely confined to Bedfont, as being more easy of access. Here it was that the wine of the club was kept, and hence it was that, after dining, the members “dashed home in a style of speed and splendor equal to the spirit and judgment displayed by the noble, honorable, and respective drivers.” Among these were the “Squire of Squerries,” the father of fox-hunting; Sir Henry Peyton, who, like his descendant Sir Thomas, drove grays, and introduced the second ferrule on the whip; the Marquis of Worcester, Sir Bellingham Graham, Mr. Charles Jones, and Mr. John Walker, who drove the Bognor coach.

[Illustration: COLONEL DELANCY KANE’S FOUR-IN-HAND.]

This was very quickly followed by the Four-Horse Club, founded in 1808 by Mr. Charles Buxton, which existed only about twenty years. The members included Mr. Warde, Sir John Peyton, Lord Anson, the Marquis of Worcester, Sir Bellingham Graham, Lord Sefton, and a host of others. This body used to meet twice a month in Cavendish Square, and its meetings, wrote “Nimrod,” were “perhaps objectionable as making unnecessary parade.” What would he have said of the Magazine meets? The Four-Horse Club was also known as the Barouche Club, and, according to “Nimrod,” as the Whip Club; but Lord William Lennox would seem to imply that the Whip Club was a distinct society, inasmuch as it used to meet in Park Lane and drive to Harrow-on-the-Hill, instead of meeting in Cavendish Square and driving to Salt Hill, as was the custom of the Four-Horse members. In “Hit and Miss” Charles Mathews caricatured the many-pocketed drab coat, with its buttons the size of a crown piece; the blue waistcoat, with its inch-wide yellow stripes; the plush breeches, and the three-and-a-half-inch hat, that formed the club uniform; and the celebrated comedian offended many of the foremost coaching men by the travesty. Joey Grimaldi also made capital out of this somewhat startling dress. A drab coat was formed out of a blanket, a purloined cabbage was used as a bouquet, plates formed the buttons of the coat; the opportune appearance of a cradle and four cheeses enabled a coach to be built, while a toy-shop furnished four blotting-paper horses.

[Illustration: THE FOUR-IN-HANDS IN CENTRAL PARK.]

[Illustration: FAMILY TRAVELING COACH, 17TH CENTURY.]

About 1820 the Four-Horse Club came to an end, but was resuscitated about two years later, only to be dissolved again.

The Bensington Driving Club kept on, and was joined, in 1838, by the Richmond Driving Club, under the presidency of Lord Chesterfield. The meets of this club took place at Chesterfield House, and the destination of the club was Richmond. The R. D. C., however, only had a short life, and the parent society, the B. D. C., was alone in its glory till 1852, when it came to an end.

Then came an interregnum of about four years, until it occurred to the late Mr. William Morritt, of roans and yellow coach celebrity, to establish the Four-in-Hand Driving Club--this is its real name--of which the Duke of Beaufort and the late Sir Watkin Wynn were original members. In 1870 the Coaching Club was started, and this completes the list of clubs--past and present--formed in England for the encouragement of the difficult art of driving four-in-hand. On the books of these societies are to be found the names of all the best coachmen of the time; and it may be doubted whether the institutions of the present day may not fairly anticipate a longer life than was vouchsafed to their predecessors.

For some time it was a legitimate boast that no other country could show a sight equal to the English coaching meets; but the monopoly in that, as in other lines connected with sport and pastime, is at an end.

Sundry attempts, but wholly unsuccessful ones, have been made to organize meets of other vehicles than coaches. Once there was a meet of tandems in Hyde Park, but it was a sorry exhibition. Then a sleighing meet was tried; but the only result of the venture was to show that England is not quite the place for an experiment of that kind. Later came the meet of trotters, a yet more ludicrous affair, so it is only necessary for some one to organize a meet of “pickaxe” teams, to have introduced to the British public every variety of driving not in common use.

So much for coaching in England. In America its history does not run back quite so far; but, in 1697, John Clapp, a New York Bowery innkeeper, is recorded as having a hackney-coach built for him, and must be booked as the first of the “cabbies” whose extortion give New York such a name among travelers.

We hear of the first private carriage in 1745. In 1750, the Rev. Mr. Burnaby, writing of New York, mentions Italian chaises as the proper means of conveyance in his time, excepting in Virginia, where coaches were used and required six horses to drag them. They require that number now in most parts of that State, particularly in the winter and spring.

Boston is said to have had a stage in 1661, and in the middle of the eighteenth century a stage-line was established between that city and New York. Stages were, however, very little in use until 1786, at which time there were only three carriage builders in New York. The “boom” must have commenced about then, as I learn from an article on coaching, written by Miss Jennie J. Young some fifteen years ago, that during the next three years the number had trebled, and that there were five livery yards as well.

[Illustration: TRAVELING COACH, 18TH CENTURY.]

During the next two decades the number had grown to twenty-nine, which would have been further increased had it not been for the enormous cost of production, a complaint that prevails a hundred years later. Most people, therefore, imported their coaches. Among these was Washington. Mr. J. T. Watson describes his coach as follows: “It was cream-colored, globular in its shape and capacious within, ornamented in the French style with cupids supporting festoons and wreaths of flowers emblematically arranged along the panel-work, the figures and flowers beautifully covered with fine glass, very white and dazzling to the eye of youth and simplicity in such matters. It was drawn sometimes by four, but in common by two, very elegant Virginia bays, with long switch tails and splendid harness, and driven by a German, tall and muscular, possessing an aquiline nose.” A handsome vehicle in its time, no doubt, but one that would appear as an advance guard of Barnum’s in these days of workmanlike simplicity.

A less gorgeous vehicle, but equally curious, was lately, Miss Young says, in the possession of Brewster, of Broome Street. “It was built in 1801 by Leslie, of London, and was brought to this country on the occasion of a matrimonial alliance between the families of Van Rensselaer and of Vischer. The body is painted yellow, and on the panels are the arms of both families. The lining is green. The wheels are high, and the body, instead of being let down between them, is kept as far from the ground as possible. The driver’s seat is also pushed up to the highest possible altitude.”

At the commencement of this century three stages were enough for the requirements of the travelers from and to this city. One of these ran from the corner of Wall and New streets to Greenwich, and the other ran from the Bull’s Head to Harlem and Manhattanville respectively. Twenty-five years made a vast difference in the travel by road, and the country roads being improved a large number of coaches left this city daily, among them being daily mails to Albany, Philadelphia, Westchester and Danbury; and there was a day mail between this city and Boston. This did not last long, as the advent of steam-cars sent the coaches to the rightabout, or relegated them to the interior where steam had not penetrated.

Then came a long period before the time-honored sport was renewed.

It is said that in 1860 there was only one private four-in-hand in the Union, which was of English build, and belonged to Mr. T. Bigelow Lawrence, of Boston. It eventually passed, on his death, into the hands of Brewster & Co. While in their hands it attracted the attention of Col. William Jay and Mr. Thomas Newbold, and was purchased by them, the copartnership being increased by Mr. Frederick Bronson and Mr. Kane. Three years later, in 1863, Wood Brothers built a coach for Mr. Leonard Jerome; Mr. August Belmont imported one from England, and during the next decade coaches were imported by Mr. Bronson, Col. Delancy Kane, and Mr. James Gordon Bennett, whose importation was afterward purchased by Mr. William P. Douglas.

Curiously enough, the organization of the Coaching Club was started abroad, several gentlemen, among whom were Col. Delancy Kane and Col. W. Jay, being the prime movers in this idea. In 1875 the organization was effected. The first parade was held in 1876, and six coaches made their appearance. Many of the names that were included on the roll in the first year are still represented on the box-seat; Mr. Frederick Bronson and Col. William Jay were, however, the only two who put in an appearance at the meet last May. The others are James Gordon Bennett, William P. Douglas, Leonard Jerome, Delancy Kane, Nicholson Kane, Thomas Newbold, and Mr. Thorndike Rice. This list was speedily augmented, and included August Belmont, senior and junior, Hugo S. Fritsch, George R. Fearing, Theodore A. Havemeyer, G. G. Haven, Frederick Neilson, Fairman Rogers, Francis R. Rives, G. P. Wetmore, Pierre Lorillard, Augustine Whiting, and Augustus Schermerhorn--all names that are interesting to students of the history of the sports of the past twenty-five years.

The membership was originally twenty-five, but so popular has the club become that it has been deemed advisable to increase the number, and the limit now stands at forty-five, with only one vacancy, and plenty of applicants. The uniform consists of a dark green cut-away coat with brass buttons, and a yellow striped waistcoat, the buttons bearing the initials C. C., and having the bars as a design. The club only comes before the public twice a year, one of these occasions being the annual meet in the Park, and another being the annual drive to some spot within about fifty miles of New York. At these times the club is greeted by a large portion of the New York public, and when the weather favors the annual meet it takes all the energies of the “sparrow police” to keep the road clear for the coaches.

Very few of the members have ever driven public coaches, so the rule that obliges members of the English coaching clubs to have previously driven a public coach, would be prohibitory here. Col. Delancy Kane is about the only member that has done so in England, and he was, with Colonel Jay, Theodore Roosevelt and Frederick Bronson, the prime mover in the “Tantivy” which ran for several seasons from the Hotel Brunswick to the Country Club at Pelham. Last year Mr. Hugo Fritsch and Mr. Frederick Bronson ran this venture, but I fancy that the returns were by no means commensurate with the expenses, and that they lost money. It seems a pity that no one is public-spirited enough to follow in their footsteps, as after all the expense is not so very vast, and it would give the prestige that many strive for in other ways. Colonel William Jay was the first president of the club, and he still retains that position, leading the van in the parades, and sits at the head of the table at the dinner which follows.

The parades have been attended with very few accidents, and indeed the whole history of amateur coaching in America is singularly devoid of exciting incidents. The Central Park gates are wider than those of Hyde Park, and the example of a noble lord who not very long since took a wheel off and quietly “dumped” his load on the sidewalk, has not as yet been emulated. I have heard of a case in which a four-in-hand and a street-car tried conclusions to the detriment of the former, and one or two of the starts at Jerome have been fraught with considerable peril to those who were on the coach. Fortune favors the brave, however, and Jerome luckily has not such a tremendous hill on the way home as has Goodwood, the historic racecourse situated above the beautiful park of the Duke of Richmond and Gordon. To this course some thirty private four-in-hands make the trip from the different country houses and towns in the neighborhood.

[Illustration: “THE CAMBRIDGE TELEGRAPH,” WHITE HORSE TAVERN, FETTER LANE, LONDON.]

About ten years back, Lord Charles Beresford, of “Condor” fame, was driving his coach home from these races; on the seat beside him was Lady Folkestone, and another lady was among those behind. When a couple of hundred yards through the park had been compassed, a sudden block occurred on the road, and Lord Charles, to save running into some of the carriages in front, swung off the road onto the grass. The jerk broke the chain of the “skid,” and the coach ran away with the horses. The hill at this point is very steep, and the pace was simply terrific. The coach swayed from side to side, but did not turn over; the horses were going at a mad gallop, and a stumble meant instant death to all. Down the hill they plunged, Lady Folkestone never moving or saying a word, and the rest of the party, with teeth set, grimly facing the end that seemed inevitable. The bottom of the hill came at last, and over the rolling sward tore the horses. Finally, about a mile and a half from the bottom, they came to a stand, not a strap broken, and no damage of any kind done. Lord Charles could not release his hands from the reins, and they had to be forced from him. Since then he can never depend on them, as any strain seems to paralyze him, and at one or two meets of the Coaching Club he has been obliged to relinquish the “ribbons” in consequence of the horses’ pulling. This all reads like a traveler’s yarn to those who do not know the steepness of the hill; but Lord Charles told it to me himself, and added that the only thing lost was the whip. This could hardly occur at Jerome, as there are no precipices to encounter.

The annual drive of the Coaching Club is quite a feature, and some very charming trips have been made. Last year the chosen spot was “Idle Hour,” the beautiful country seat of Mr. William K. Vanderbilt, at Oakdale, L. I. The start was made on June 2, at 9.30 ~A. M.~, from the Brunswick Hotel, Col. Jay “handling the ribbons.” Idle Hour was reached by six ~P. M.~ Changes were made at Flushing, Lakeville, Garden City, Belmore, Amityville, Bayshore, and Islip; the different gentlemen horsing the coach and driving the several stages being Messrs. F. A. Havemeyer, F. Bronson, A. Belmont, Jr., Delancy Kane, and Prescott Lawrence. The return journey was made on Monday, the changes being made at the same places, and at six o’clock, dusty and thirsty, the members of the C. C. drew up at the door of the Brunswick. It was the eleventh annual drive of the club, the other places visited having been the country seats of A. J. Cassatt and of Fairman Rogers, at Philadelphia; Mr. Frederick Bronson, at Greenwich Hill, Conn.; Mr. Francis Rives, at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson; Col. William Jay, at Bedford, N. J.; Theodore Havemeyer, at Mawah, N. J.; Pierre Lorillard, at Rancocas, N. J.; Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, at Hyde Park, and Mr. Schermerhorn, at Lenox, Mass. The trip made in 1878 to Philadelphia was a long one, the entire ninety miles being accomplished in about seven hours and a half. The route was divided into nine stopping-places, these being Newark, Rahway, Signboard, Six Mile Run, Princeton, Trenton, Hulmeville and Holmesburg--the drivers being Col. Delancy Kane, F. R. Rives, P. Belmont, Jr., T. A. Havemeyer, G. P. Wetmore, Hugo O. Fritsch, F. Bronson, G. R. Fearing, and Fairman Rogers.

The meets which take place on the last Saturday in May have for the two past years been subject to atmospheric depression, which has had a deteriorating effect on the attendance and on the spirits of those present; but, rain or no rain, the meet takes place. Only seven coaches were in line last year, which shows that, however much the “art” may be appreciated in New York, the increase in the number of coaches during the past decade has hardly kept up with the corresponding increase in the membership of the club.

Colonel Jay drove a pair of useful golden chestnut wheelers and gray and roan leaders to his red and yellow coach. His leaders were not quite as showy as the gray and chestnut leaders that he had last year. Dr. Seward Webb’s coach was black and yellow, his horses being four well-matched chestnuts. Mr. Prescott Lawrence’s coach has a primrose body with yellow carriage, and his cross-team of chestnut and brown wheelers, with roan and gray leaders, were as good as any on the ground. Mr. Fairman Rogers drove bays and grays, and Mr. Hugo Fritsch’s coach was drawn by brown and bay wheelers and bay and roan leaders. Mr. E. N. Padelford deserted the traditions of the club and brought a “stag party” in his white and blue coach horsed by four bays. Mr. Frederick Bronson had a useful pair of brown wheelers with chestnut and brown leaders. Weather has a great deal to do with these parades, and there seemed a lack of enthusiasm on the part of the spectators, and a lack of the pleasurable animation on the part of those on the coaches, which is necessary to make a meet of the Coaching Club a perfect success.

Let us hope, in the interest of this grand sport, that the sun may shine very brightly on the last Saturday of next May, that the number of coaches be quadrupled, and that all the beauty of New York occupy the seats on the tops of the different drags.

SALMON FISHING ON LOCH TAY.

BY “ROCKWOOD.”

~Partridges~ and pheasants have just come under the protection of the Close Time Act, and the gun has been laid in its old place on the rack, there to remain till the 12th of August, when the grouse-shooting opens; the greyhound courser is thinking of the near approach of Waterloo, when, on the plains of Altcar, at Liverpool, the Blue Riband of the Leash will be fought for amongst the cracks of the “longtails;” the fox-hunters of the shires are hard at it and keen as ever, though their horses are leg-weary and suffering from overreaching and attendant sprains of the sinews, when we fly north from London by the London and Northwestern Railway _en route_ to Loch Tay for the early spring salmon fishing.

Every Scottish lake has had its poet. Scott and Christopher North have in prose celebrated the praises of Loch Lomond. The Gaelic bards, like Robb Donn Mackay, have sung of Loch Maree, the silent and majestic, beloved of all the lakes by Her Majesty the Queen; but Loch Tay is the loch of the angler and the sportsman. It is, _par excellence_, _the lake home_ of the Scottish salmon, that fish which, viking-like, cruises annually along the west side of the German Ocean, and with health and vigor charges mill-lades, linns, weirs, and a hundred other obstacles, with all the fury of a Highlandman on a battle-field, and not a little of the Celt’s cunning in dodging round the ends of stake-nets on his return to his native waters.

The Purdies and the Kers of the Border may swear by the superior charms of killing “a guid Tweed fush.” On the Solway Dee they will contest for the merits of their own waters, and where the Dee of Aberdeenshire sweeps through the woods of Invercauld and down under the shadow of the windows of Balmoral, the Farquharsons and the Gordons, adepts at throwing a long fly, will hold in contempt the anglers of less favored streams. Each riverman has his opinion, yet all are agreed that Loch Tay is the premier fishing loch.

[Illustration: “FROM KENMORE TO KILLIN.”]

This magnificent sheet of water drains, by means of the rivers Dochart and Lochy, the large range of hills which guard central Scotland from the storms which sweep across the Atlantic past the North of Ireland, and to whose accompaniment of heavy seas Mull, Skye, and other of the Hebridean islands form a huge breakwater. Loch Awe takes the drainage of the west water-shed, the river Awe carrying it through the Pass of Brander to the Atlantic. Loch Tay gathers all on the east and north and carries it by means of the silver Tay right across Scotland to the German Ocean, through varied and unsurpassed scenes of beauty. Onward the river flows, under the walls of stately mansions, once the homes of fierce chieftains, now the residences of enthusiastic sportsmen. Among these the most noted is Murthly Castle, where Sir John Millais every year makes known to the salmon the lightness of the hand required to successfully apply a brush to canvas.

[Illustration: THE BOATS STARTING--KILLIN.]

But the train whirls northward, through counties renowned in hunting song, past old coaching “half-way” houses, famous in the history of the English mail coach. Here the travelers of sixty years ago used to hold merry jinks, whilst the coachman fretted and the guard shouted and four good steeds pawed the sward, anxious to start on the next stage. On between blazing furnaces, the coal ground of the iron horse, past reeking coal pits. Descending those dark shafts and traveling along every corner of the mine, you will find British sportsmen, each as ready and as enthusiastic in backing a horse or a greyhound as his master, the wealthy mine owner and member of the Jockey Club. Over the Cumberland hills, where wrestling is still the favorite pastime, as in days of yore, to merry Carlisle, that old English border-town which was the scene of many a fierce battle between Scotch and English. Skirting Gretna Green, where runaway couples were hitched tight by the old blacksmith in the days when marriages were made more binding than now, Bectloch summit is crossed, and soon the train crosses the Clyde valley. At Stirling Junction carriages have to be changed, and while the setting sun is gilding the western sky, we dip from Killin old station, beyond Callande, down into the lovely valley of the Dochart, to Killin, the capital of Breadalbane and the head fishing quarters of Loch Tay; and this, too, only twelve hours after leaving Euston Station, London.

All the time the talk has been of fish and fishing-rods, of big fish that were caught and the far bigger fish that escaped. The angling romancer has a special license as regards story-telling. Rarely, indeed, does he fail to take full advantage of his privilege. But in the journey up the talk has been all of the past; now it is all of the future; the hope is of the morrow.

Stewart, the landlord of “The Royal,” is too busy looking to the comfort of his guests to answer all the questions so eagerly put by the new-comers; but the boatmen of the lake stand near, ready to shake hands with old patrons and to tell them that in the late floods “the fish have jist been literally croodin’ into the loch, till there’s scarcely room for them unless they lie heids and thraws [head and foot] like bairns in a bed.” The Scottish boatman does not promise so much as his Irish brother, who said that the snipe in the bog were “jist jostlin’ wan another, sir,” but he does not find it advantageous to damp your spirits with prospects of indifferent sport. A shilling or so will make them happy enough in the back bar of the hotel. There, in Gaelic, they will hook and kill salmon which they gaffed long ago for old sportsmen long since dead, for the ranks of _the_ opening-day fishers of Loch Tay have of late been very much thinned of veterans.

Before breakfast the early-rising angler will have time to explore Killin, which is beautifully situated within the peninsula formed by the confluence of the rivers Dochart and Lochy. The great Dr. McCulloch, most charming of all writers on Scottish landscape, says: “Killin is the most extraordinary collection of extraordinary scenery in all Scotland; unlike everything else in the country and perhaps on earth, and a perfect picture gallery in itself, since you cannot move three yards without meeting a new landscape. A busy artist might here draw a month and not exhaust it. Fir-trees, rocks, torrents, mills, bridges, houses--these produce the great bulk of the middle landscape, under endless combinations; while the distances more constantly are found in the surrounding hills, in their varied woods, in the bright expanse of the lake and the minute ornaments of the distant valley, in the rocks and bold summit of Craig-Cailliach, and in the lofty vision of Ben Lawers, which towers like a huge giant in the clouds--monarch of the scene.” This picture we can endorse, having seen Killin in all seasons of the year, when the Dochart in spate was foaming and churning among the rocks and the tree-roots of the numerous wooded islands; where the bluebell and fox-glove bloomed bonnily on the banks of the Lochy in early summer, and again where the red glow on the upper mountain betokened that the grouse-hiding heather was in full bell. But the angler loves it best when Ben Lawers has on his nightcap of snow. No matter though a snow-shower sweeps like spin-drift before a squall and makes him shiver as he watches the rods at the stern, if he have the shelter of the bays and the “saumont” is in a taking mood.

But the “halesome parritch” is reeking on the breakfast table, and every angler, be he Scotchman or not, will be wise if he puts the contents of a “coggie” and some rich milk from a Highland cow within him. They will keep heart in him and cold without all day, besides “man,” as his boatman will tell him, “they mak’ gran’ bottoming for the whisky ane maun keep drinking.” Breakfast over, the boats are soon manned where they lie at the lochy a few minutes’ walk from the hotel door. This leads to a description of the system of fishing which is pursued on the lake.

Except the reserved water of the Marquis of Breadalbane, the proprietor, who keeps a favorite portion for himself and his guests, the rights belong to the hotel proprietors, whose houses are situated on the lake. Kenmore Hotel has four boats and about eight miles of water at the east end of the loch, and across its whole breadth. Killin Hotel has six boats, and its beat extends to about eight miles, also across the whole breadth. Bridge of Lochay Inn, with three boats, has the same water as the Killin Hotel. Ardenaig Inn has two boats, and Lawers Inn, at the foot of Ben Lawers, two boats. The regulations at these hotels are the same, each boat being allowed to carry only two rods at £5 per week, or 25 shillings a day; if two anglers are in one boat, at 30 shillings a day, all fish caught to be the property of the angler. Two boatmen are necessary, and these are paid 3s. 8d. per day, the angler allowing them luncheon only when he feels so disposed. This, no doubt, looks very costly, but when the sport obtained is considered, in reality it seems very cheap. Take the following score made by Mr. I. Watson Lyall, made through the favor of Lord Breadalbane a few years ago:

Feb. 5.--Opening day, after two o’clock ~P. M.~, 8 salmon, 28, 23, 23, 21, 20, 19, 18 and 16 lbs. 168

Feb. 6.--6 salmon, 32, 20, 20, 18, 19, 17 lbs. 126

Feb. 7.--4 salmon, 20, 19, 23 and 18 lbs. 80

Feb. 8.--Weather too stormy for fishing. --

Feb. 9.--6 salmon, 32, 17, 22, 19, 21, 17 lbs. 128

Feb. 10.--Stopped at two o’clock, 2 salmon, 30 and 19 lbs. 49 --- Total for five days’ fishing, 26 salmon, weight lbs. 551

Not bad fishing that, and far from costly when salmon is selling in London at two shillings per pound.

[Illustration: “HE LOOPED THE LINE ONTO THE OTHER ROD.”]

The fish, which rarely weigh under twenty pounds, fight strongly, and carry out as much as eighty yards of line at a single rush, so that they always give magnificent sport before being landed. For some reason or other which cannot be explained, they will not rise to the fly. Phantom minnows of the ordinary form are used, with small screw-propellers at the nose to make them spin, and the better they spin the more likely is the angler to be successful. On arrival at the fishing-ground, the rods, which as a rule are fourteen feet long, are fixed in little forked rests and so made to point sternward at an angle over the gunwale. Forty yards of line are let out to trail (some allow as many as sixty yards), and a small stone is placed upon a part of the line under each of the rods. When these stones are jerked off, the watchful angler knows that he is fast in a fish. There are, of course, certain favorite bits of water, and these the boatmen take the rods over with great care.

[Illustration: “WAS OBLIGED TO SIT DOWN WITH SUCH A STORM ON.”]

The Loch Tay tackle has for some reason or other remained very heavy, and so boats cannot be taken close inshore for fear of the lines fouling the rocks or the weeds, which grow in many places in rich profusion at the bottom. And yet in these waters, near the shore, the most of the salmon are to be found lying in wait for food. Last year the heaviest salmon of the year--a magnificent forty-pounder--was caught with the lightest tackle and lightest rod ever used, and so there is very likely to be a considerable reform in Loch Tay trolling rods within the next few years. The capture of this fish is worth relating.

Mr. Geen, of Richmond, Surrey, a famous angler of southern waters, had determined to use the very finest tackle, notwithstanding remonstrances from fellow-anglers and boatmen. He made up his mind that with lighter tackle he could “troll” his phantom a few feet nearer the surface than with heavy tackle, an undoubted advantage in the bays, and that with a line less likely to be seen a fish was far more likely to take the bait. A light rod, he moreover thought, would kill a fish once caught, quicker than one which had neither spring nor balance, so he used what might be classed as an ordinary fly trouting rod of cane, with greenheart top. All the epithets of derision to be found in the Gaelic dialect were hurled at this determined innovation. Mark the sequel, and with it the adventure, one of the greatest feats of perseverance with a salmon under difficulties ever known in any angling water.

One of those sudden squalls which come down on Loch Tay and raise lumpy water in the centre came up. To seek shelter from it, he directed his two Highland boatmen to keep as near the shore as possible, so as to come circling round on the landward side of the fleet. This was close to a bold bluff known as Fat Man’s Rock. It was well on to five o’clock in the afternoon, and he had not struck a fish. Suddenly the stone sprang off the line under his inner rod as the boat swept round, and the reel began to run with a desperate speed and noise.

“We have got hold of the county,” said his boatmen--this being an ironical way of saying that he had hooked the land.

“No, we’ve not; it’s a fish,” said Mr. Geen, seizing the rod.

A fish, and a good one it was, too, for away it went seaward for 100 yards with a rush which staggered the boat, and then, salmon-like, jumped into the air. It was not long, however, before it returned to the place it was hooked, and here it began to be most troublesome among the rocks. These troubles, however, were small compared with what were to follow. As they reached deeper water again, his holder began to handle with much success, apparently, for he got him almost within reach of the gaff. _Almost_, but unfortunately _not quite_. James reached out, but miscalculated his distance, caught the line, and Mr. Geen felt something slip. His heart fell. Was he free? No! for immediately the music of the reel was heard again, and he was off, this time right to the bottom, sunk like a newly harpooned whale. There he assumed the customary sulky disposition. In vain they tried to drop stones on him. He was fully sixty yards down, and the stones no doubt never dropped near him. The weight of the rod was tried on him, with the result that six feet broke off at the top.

[Illustration: “HE WAS CAUGHT IN THE BACK FIN.”]

Darkness was now gathering, and the boats were crowding down homeward to Killin and the Lochy Hotel. There was little sympathy on the part of boatmen and sportsmen for the gentleman with the light tackle and the cane rod. Some said he had hold of “the county,” others that his fish was a small one, too much for his rod, and some betted him two to one that he would not get it. One gentleman hailed him and said: “I will stand by you all night, and watch the result.” This gentleman, though he had not touched a fish for three days, was rewarded in the next five minutes by a salmon on his own line--the recompense of true sympathy with a fellow sportsman.

But what was to be done, and how was the rod to be mended? “Row quietly out, James, so that I may cut all my trolling line” (the line which is used outside the boat), “and I will put him on the other rod.” This was slowly done, till the line was fastened quietly on the second rod; though for precaution it was still, for the time, kept fast on the broken rod. The broken rod was then slipped by cutting off the connection, and once more Mr. Geen was prepared to fight in earnest, but this time against almost pitch darkness.

“We maun raise him, sir; he’s a deed fish,” said James; “he’s like a stane at the bottom.”

Inch by inch for sixty yards of line did James draw him up. At last he said: “I have come to the first swivel.” Still no fish showed the white of its belly. Up and up an inch or two more, and then--

“She’s gone, James!” said the holder of the rod, breathless with excitement, as the boatman made a lightning movement.

“Yes, sir. Give him the gaff!” and the next instant the magnificent fish was in the boat. Yes, there he was, _hooked by the back fin_. No wonder, indeed, that he was hard to lift. The reason that he had been hooked foul was because he had somehow got a turn or two of the line round his body, and while the hook had been jerked out of his mouth at the first time of gaffing, it slipped round and fouled him.

It was eight o’clock when the boat got back to Killin, and the whole village, man, woman and child, turned out to learn of this wonderful exploit, which will long be talked of on Loch Tay side.

Because Mr. Geen fought and killed this salmon successfully, it would be absurd to argue that all men who fish under the shadow of Ben Lawers should follow his example and fish with tackle of the finest quality, and rods as springy as a tandem whip. It will be argued by many that the difficulties in landing the fish were partly his own creation, _i. e._, the use of a rod which was not equal to the heaviest Loch Tay fish. We have had the pleasure of handling the rod, which is one of Canter’s best make. We have no hesitation in saying that though a lady might handle it without fatigue, it would prove far more fatiguing to a fish than the stiff rods at present in use on the lake. A salmon would come quicker within reach of the gaff when such a rod were wielded by good hands--and a man with bad hands will never make a good steersman or a clever man on horseback.

An invention made by Mr. Geen we liked much. It is a telescopic extra length of rod which drops off when the butt is seized and a fish is about to be played. This arrangement permits the point of the rod, in trolling, to be lowered, so that the angle between the phantom and the point is made more oblique, and the more oblique the angle is made the higher in the water will remain the lure. This is a matter of the utmost importance with revolving baits, as the screw will not work at times unless kept going almost parallel to the waterline, and the illusion remains incomplete. If any one is exercised in his mind about this, let him take a phantom and attach head and tail to something which will whirl round at the rate of six or eight revolutions per second, and he will understand the necessity. Hooks and all disappear, and you see but a small fish, and so does the salmon. Stop the revolutions and you see a fish with hooks, barbs, and everything else. I believe the double-screw propeller, which I saw some years ago, though not successful when applied to ships, would do well for phantoms, as giving one extra spin. However, it might raise the Gaelic bile to say too much, and when that is raised there are more than broken rods flying about.

[Illustration: “THEY HEAVED HIM UP INCH BY INCH.”]

When the fishing on Loch Tay palls on the angler, he may have some capital off-days in the neighborhood, a drive up Glenlocky being a favorite. The hotel is noted for its good horses. Then one can have a sail up the lake in these little fresh-water models of Atlantic greyhounds, _The Lady of the Lake_, and _Alma Carlotta_, to Kenmore. These pretty little steamers were designed by Mr. G. L. Watson, whose name is so well known in the yachting world. At Kenmore the beautiful grounds of Taymouth Castle may be visited, and they are well worthy of it, as there is nothing to beat them in either the Highlands or Lowlands of Scotland. Three miles beyond Kenmore is Abergeldy, where are the celebrated Banks of Abergeldy, whose praises the poet Burns has celebrated in undying song. The ascent of Ben Lawers may be made from Ben Lawers Inn, and a grand view of the Taymouth district be obtained, as it is the fourth highest mountain in Scotland.

As a rule, many of the off-days are spent nearer home, and a much frequented spot is the old ruins of Finlarig Abbey, close to Killin, and situated on the banks of the lake. One of the smoking-room stories tells how on one occasion, before an off-day party had been arranged by Stewart the landlord, a Macgregor had been bouncing about his famous ancestor, Rob Roy, in a manner which would have astonished the famous cateran himself. These, if not taken with a pinch of snuff, would denote that the Macgregor was always jumping rivers at the widest points, and playing at hop, step and jump from Ben Lomond to the Cobbler, and from the Cobbler over to Ben Lawers. Common report makes Rob out to have been a very clever gentleman cattle-lifter, but when a Macgregor gets hold of a few southern anglers over a tumbler of toddy in the smoking-room of a Scotch hotel, he is allowed to make him execute performances worthy of Jupiter. And “ye must na’ doot the word o’ a Macgregor, for ye ken it has aye been true, no like the word o’ the Cammells, which has never been kept.”

To get a joke out of a real genuine Macgregor was quietly suggested, and next day it was fully carried out. In the large hotel drag the Macgregor of the party was allowed to continue his marvelous sketches of the old chief’s exploits.

“But,” said a Saxon of the party, “how does it happen that all the places of interest connected with the Macgregor family are associated with escape? In Loch Lomond you are pointed out his Cave of Refuge; on the burn at Inversnead, the place he jumped when pursued, and the same in the Lyon--all, too, when fleeing from a Campbell.”

“A Cammell, did you say? A Macgregor flee from a Cammell? Never! It takes ten Cammells to make a Macgregor turn his back. Say a hundred Cammells and you will be right. Rob Roy flee frae a Cammell? That’s impossible! No; when his foot was on his native heath, and his good broadsword in his hand, all the dead Cammells that are in the ill place itself would never have made him run. Sir, you do not know the speerit o’ the Macgregors!”

“But they were a lawless, useless lot,” was the interruption of another knight of the rod, “and the country around here never did any good till they got rid of them in the old-fashioned Scotch way.”

“What do you call the old-fashioned Scotch way?”

“Oh, the gallows; dancing Gillie Callum and the Highland fling from an ash bush, with three feet of daylight below them.”

“And who dare do that with a Macgregor?” was the response, in tones of thunder.

Fortunately the skirr of the brake on the wheels of the trap, as Stewart took a pull at his horses, stopped the conversation. It heralded, also, our arrival at the old castle gates. The castle of Finlarig was in stormy times the residence of the Breadalbane Campbells, and the “auld laird” who occupied it made short work of such as were not Campbells who were found straying in the neighborhood. As the party walked in quietly, Stewart whispered to Mrs. Campbell, the guide, “When ye come to the hangman’s-tree ye maun say ‘saxty Macgregors’, instead of sax.”

“Guid save us, Mr. Stewart! Saxty Macgregors!” was the astonished reply, “that would be the hale clan o’ them!”

“Never mind; say saxty,” was the whispered answer.

The old ruins having been well explored--the Macgregor fuming all the time because “Sassenach fushing-men” would persist in making comparisons in its favor with the dirty old fox-kennel-like caves in which Rob Roy used to live--the party was then shown the old gallows-tree.

“Thet’s the plece,” said Mrs. Campbell, “where the auld laird hanged saxty Macgregors one morning before his breakfast.”

“Gregarach, woman! ye dinna say sae. It could na be saxty Macgregors,” was the indignant response of Rob Roy’s descendant.

“Saxty Macgregors, I say--saxty Highland vagabonds, if ye like; a half-dizzen [dozen] at a time. And a bonnie braw mornin’s work, nae doubt, it would be for the country side!”

“Saxty Macgregors allow themselves to be hanged! Hoots, woman, ye be bletherin’; they could nae have been true Macgregors!”

“_True_ Macgregors? Weel, I’ll no say that; the Lord never made sich a thing as a _true_ Macgregor.”

“And never anything but false Cammells. Saxty Macgregors!” and the champion of the old clan fairly wept for his unfortunate countrymen. Had the Maccalumore himself looked in and a claymore been handy, there would have been more tragic narrative. Humbled before the Sassenachs, he remained silent till the graves of Black Duncan and the old Campbell chief were pointed out, and then he had his revenge.

Jumping into the vault, he shouted to the attendant piper to play up “Macgregor’s March.” He then danced on the stones above the grave till the sparks were flying from the hobnails of his heavy boots. Ever and anon, as he wheeled and jumped, he uttered the words, “Saxty Macgregors!--hang saxty Macgregors! the scoundrels! Blaw up, piper, a guid auld Macgregor reel tune, Rothermurchis Rout, or anything with the music o’ the deevil in it. I could dance over a Cammell’s bones for a fortnicht!”

Mrs. Campbell possibly did not relish the performance as much as the “Sassenach fushing-men,” but very wisely did not interfere. Had there been a hatchet on the spot, the gallows-tree would soon have been removed and flung into the vault or hollow. Fortunately there was nothing better handy than the old headsman’s axe of the Stuart period (James Rex) given in the picture.

The Macgregor told no stories in the smoking-room that night about the feats of his ancestors, but if any “Bleck McFlea” roused him in the night-time, he was heard murmuring “Saxty Macgregors!” and then letting forth his opinions of the whole Clan Campbell in certain Gaelic words which are forbidden to be used by the Free Kirk in preaching Gaelic sermons. The little story of the gallows-tree at Finlarig Castle, where he was fair effronted afore the “fusher’s folk,” still haunts him, and he shows this by sudden fits of temper, which seemed to worry him when on the streets. But the smoking-room at Killin reeks with fishing stories and anecdotes of the kind, and more than one number of ~Outing~ would be required to give them as they are given, over a tumbler of good Scotch whisky toddy, after a long day in the boats when salmon fishing on Loch Tay.

[Illustration: “HE WAS SENT HOME TO BE STUFFED.”]

SONNET.

The moon shone full upon the tide, On whose dark, heaving bosom wide The white light broke, till far and near, With dancing jewels, silver-clear, The sullen waves were glorified.

We spoke no word--all beauties vied To charm our souls; and, satisfied, We felt no care, no doubt, no fear-- For there we vowed, in accents dear, To walk life’s pathway side by side.

_Howell Stroud England._

WINTER SHOOTING IN FLORIDA.

BY F. CAMPBELL MOLLER.

With the middle of December the upland shooting in the Eastern States comes virtually to an end. To be sure, a couple of weeks remain before the curtain of legal protection descends over the game still to be found in the dead fields and snow-whitened coppices on the first day of the new year, but the remnants of the quail bevies are wild, and, in much shot-over districts, begin to approach in their watchful behavior and antics the typical wariness of the hawk. As for the ruffed-grouse, one needs to be a thorough workman, both in shooting and stalking, to render even a tolerable account of these birds. The last woodcock was seen nearly a month ago, this mid December day, as one fired and missed him among the black alders, and he is up and away on the next stage of his journey to the swamp-lands of the Carolinas or the Mississippi.

The sportsman resident of the country may at this season of the year have an occasional sun-gilded winter’s day with the setters, when the breeze comes warm from the south. But more often will he be listening to the tinkling, musical notes of his beagles as the brown hare leads them a circling chase through the brier-fields, or the deeper notes of the fox-hounds will strike upon his ear as they echo among the gray cliffs of the brown-treed mountain-side.

Yes, it may not seem to be quite the correct thing to my English readers, but we shoot foxes from a “runaway” in the rough, wooded, hilly country of the Eastern States, where it would be impossible to ride to hounds, and gladly do we accept this chance to rid our farmers of this destroyer of game and poultry.

After the 1st of January, comes the exodus of fashion, sport and ill-health from the rigors and blizzards of a Northern winter, and many are the queries from brethren of the gun, visiting for the first time the land of Spanish-moss and palm-trees, to those who have shot quail among the wild violets and sweet jessamine in the Carolinas during early springtime, or “plugged” alligators in some muddy “backout” of the Upper St. John.

No matter whether he knows how to use a gun or not, nearly every man off for an outing in the South thinks it necessary to take with him some such weapon for the destruction of animal life. This fact, in brief, is sufficient reason for the scarcity of game along the shore and in the waters of the traveled portion of the St. John’s River. Continual bombarding has driven the denizens of flood and field to remoter districts, and if one wishes really good sport, he must literally hunt for it.

The majority of men going South solely for sport take the Charleston, Savannah or Fernandina steamers, continuing by rail, if necessary, to their destination, which is certainly the most economical procedure, especially if one’s dogs be taken. This should always be done, if possible, as a dog fit for a sportsman to shoot over can rarely be hired or even bought in Florida until the end of the season.

If quail-shooting be the expressed desideratum, one had better confine one’s self to the Carolinas or to Georgia, both for quantity and proper ground to shoot over. But if he desires a variety, such as snipe, deer, ’gator and quail shooting, all on diverse grounds, lying, however, in the sweep of a short radius from the spot he makes his headquarters, Florida must needs be his objective.

If one is not going below the Carolinas, a rifle will be an unnecessary encumbrance. Bird-shooting alone will be obtainable unless you visit the wild mountainous country far from the paths of the Northern tourist. Here the shotgun and buckshot are the chief agents used in killing deer, and, in this sport as practiced in that section of the wildwoods, one must nearly always be able to ride well; and unless one is shooting on some friend’s invitation, he must also pay well for the auxiliaries necessary to secure a shot at the denizens of the woods.

The same directions will apply to “jumping” deer with dogs from among the stunted scrub covers of the Florida brakes. One generally shoots from horseback at the small deer of this region, because the saddle affords a much better opportunity of seeing over the clumps of dwarf oaks or palmettos than would be obtained on foot.

For alligator shooting a heavy bored rifle--especially an express--will be indispensable. A forty-four calibre repeater will, however, be found to answer very well for all-round work on the river. And here, let me at once dissipate any tyro’s fallacious belief regarding the invulnerability of the American saurian, save in the eye. I have known them--aye, big ones at that--to be killed with buckshot from a close-carrying shotgun, at a distance of thirty-five yards by planting a few pellets behind the fore-shoulder, and in the thinner skin of the lateral abdominal walls. Frequently a second or even a third shot at close range will be necessary to finish them as they lie floundering in the shoal and blood-stained shore-waters by the side of a half-submerged old tree-trunk. But more of ’gator shooting anon.

Tweed clothes of light color and loosely woven texture should be worn for Florida sporting, as it is warm shooting there even in midwinter. When shooting or outing generally, it is much better to increase the thickness and warmth of the underclothing as the coolness of weather renders such advisable, than to encumber one’s movements by heavy coats and trousers. A pair of thick, oil-tanned grained-leather knee-boots with legs made as narrow as permissible, to be worn with thick-ribbed, long hose, will be found the best shoeing to be used in the Florida bottoms. The long boots, coming over the buttonings of the snug-fitting knee-breeches of whipcord--not knickerbockers, mind you--where they fasten just above the swell of the calf, will be found the most comfortable and consistent rig, whether splashing through the sloppy prairies, along the river after snipe, or tramping the waste fields in the clearings between the pine woods. Should you wear ankle-boots and the baggy knickerbockers, always don a pair of thick leathern leggings as an indispensable precaution against the musical and larksome rattler.

Along the St. John’s, from Magnolia to Enterprise, increasing proportionately as one nears the latter place, fair sport may be had with all the before-mentioned varieties of game by driving or boating far enough into the recesses of the back country, away from the spots easily reached by the average hotel lounger. But for really good shooting one must get over into the Indian River region, or, better still, the Hummocks on the Gulf coast, and especially about Homassassa, if he wants good accommodation and an abundance of deer, quail, and snipe as well as bass fishing. Below Lake Georges and extending toward the Everglades is an immense breadth of country, comparatively unknown, rich in sport and adventure to the exploring tourist who is willing to endure much rough travel by canoe and portage, and to pitch his tent o’ nights in the great dense swamp-lands.

In Florida, quail are mostly shot in the open of the stubble fields or clearings, or in the slight cover underlying the tall, shadowy pine-lands, for the simple reason that the “thickets” in the far South are almost impassable. I remember once following a bevy of quail, flushed from an old maize field, into a bordering covert of prickly plum, cactus and palmetto, with the same indifference with which I generally plunge into the many-stemmed alder-brake or waist-high cat-briers at home. I shall never do it again. Let the bevy go! Start up a fresh one, and trust to your skill in “driving” them into lyings more favorable for your purposes, if not for theirs.

For shooting in the country back from one’s hotel a wagon and pair will be needed, and, unless you are well acquainted with the region, a driver and guide combined, be he “Cracker,” “Nigger” or Indian. As most of these gentry do a little pot-shooting themselves, in season and out, they will generally insure you good sport, particularly if the man is made to understand that an extra “tip” may be forthcoming, when you return in the evening, proportionate with the amount of game found.

A deal of shooting is done driving through the rough country, among the pine woods, leaving at times the sandy road for miles together, provided the undergrowth be not too dense. And with the dogs quartering on each side of the wagon, one has but to get out and shoot when a point is obtained.

I find No. 10 shot, backed by a heavy charge of powder, the best size for shooting Southern quail, which, by the way, are a trifle smaller than the Northern bird, although identical in all other respects. No. 10 shot is also the proper size for snipe. Some capital bags of these migratory birds may be obtained even on the meadows--or prairies as they are called in Florida--suburban to Jacksonville.

But quail and snipe shooting in the South, with trifling differences as to covert, haunt and lyings, inseparable from the richness of the tropical setting and coloring, will be found so analogous to the same sport in the North that further comment is unnecessary. However, it will prove a new and delightful experience to the Northern sportsman to flush birds, as is frequently done, in the scent-laden atmosphere amid the glorious coppery splashes of color of an orange grove, and see through the tree-stems the blue St. John’s flashing its sapphire width in the warmth of golden sunlight, and the solitary giant palm rising here and there along the far, sandy shore.

A day with the alligators is not bad sport when properly undertaken and provided for; and the hide, teeth and feet will put you in possession of much valuable material to be made into bags, leggings, slippers, shoes, whistles, and gun-racks. But since the utility of the ’gator’s hide has been discovered, they, too, are fast disappearing from the places wherein they formerly abounded.

This sort of sport does not demand an early morning start. The best time to approach within easy range of the alligators is while they are taking their siesta at midday or early afternoon, sunning themselves on the bog burrocks, which, in lieu of a beach, mark the line of demarcation between the waters of the bayou and the swampy forest bottoms.

Your skiff and man--who, by the way, should be a good paddler and familiar with the haunts of the quarry you intend pursuing--having been engaged over-night, you may breakfast as late and as leisurely as you will, provided you have not too far to row to your proposed ground before high noon. So, enjoy your repast of fresh fish and game of the region, after having previously coolingly and deliciously prepared your palate with a goblet full of pure orange juice from fruit plucked that morning. Your sable attendant is waiting outside in the warm, genial sunshine, in which all of his color love to work for periods almost indefinite, and relieves your waiter first of all, because to him the most important, of the luncheon hamper, grinning the while, and giving a soft “chaw! chaw!” as he hefts its portentous weight and eyes the claret and beer bottles protruding from one of the partly raised lids. This all being to his entire satisfaction, he will pick up your macintosh coat and shotgun and precede the way to his boat. You take a gun as well as a rifle, as doubtless you will get some shots at ducks and shore-birds as you row to the creek and back, especially the latter, because the evening flight will then be on.

Your man may have pulled you for nearly an hour, and as you near a bay which marks the outlet of a creek leading to the lagoon where you intend paddling for ’gators, an object well out from shore attracts attention. It looks like a water-logged dead branch floating under water, save for three knotty protuberances rising above the placid surface. It is the snout, orbital bone and topmost spinal joint of a ’gator, at least eight feet in length, judging the distances between the slightly exposed portions of his scaly frame. No use firing at him; even if one did hit the small mark he gives at 200 yards, he would only be lost, for a dead or wounded alligator will always sink to the bottom, and there, where that old chap is floating in silent content, the water is much too deep to use the long boat-hook or the grapnel to fetch his body to the surface.

Entering the bayou, the darky exchanges the oars for a thing he calls a paddle. Not as delicately shaped is it as are those you have used about Bar Harbor or on the Adirondack lakes, but it will answer the purpose admirably. You seat yourself in the bow of the boat with your repeater across your knees. There is a fascination in this coasting along the weird, shadowy banks of the tropical creek, with its wealth of beautifully and vividly colored birds. Rounding into the entrance of the lagoon one sees a flock of white heron with wings glistening and flashing in the sunlight as they fly over yonder moss-hung headland; and the brilliant flamingo dyes with a gliding streak of salmon-pink his reflected flight in the shaded, still waters underlying the wild tangle of the wooded shore along which your boat is silently creeping. The skiff rounds the headland.

“Look yaar, sah! Dere he be--ole ’gator on a lorg.”

“Where? where?” is hastily whispered, as you anxiously scan the shore-line for a hundred yards ahead. Nothing, however, meets the inexperienced eye but a wild reach of water-grass, rushes, bog-burrocks and partly submerged fallen tree-trunks.

“Dar, sah! under dat big cypress, ’bout ten rod ahead, and lying on de lorg on de show. Shoot, or he’ll be orf next minit,” hurriedly whispers your “gillie.”

“Ah! there he is.” One holds just back of the fore-shoulder. Bang! “He’s hit!” Then his tail wildly beats the air, and he rolls into the water, which just covers but does not conceal his frantic contortions, only to expose himself to a second shot as he flounders up on some sunken logs. The man has grasped the oars after the first shot, and is rowing rapidly to the spot where the mud and spray are being whirled vigorously about.

“Give him a shot in the neck.” Missed! but no matter.

Now we’re within twenty yards of him. “Stop, Joe; don’t row up any farther. Keep well out of the reach of his tail.” Now, pump another ball at his head or neck to break his cervical vertebræ. “Good!” He rolls off the log, but “rolled off dead, shoo,” says woolly-head, showing his ivories, and getting the long-pointed hook ready for use when the blood-stained waters shall have cleared away.

While the darky busies himself with removing the alligator’s skin, you start off for a shot at a flock of teal which has come dangerously near, and perhaps you also secure some plover. There is every reason to be satisfied as you turn your boat down stream for home. The waters are aglow in the evening sun; not a breath of air is stirring; everywhere calm and quiet. You puff away at your pipe, and as you gaze at the ’gator skin in the bottom of your skiff, you find a use for every tooth and every inch of hide, and you picture to yourself the pleasure you are going to give to numerous friends. It is well to dispose of your cargo in this way before you make your landing, for there at the wharf you will find assembled the usual contingent of pretty girls waiting for the evening steamer and the return of the different boating and shooting parties. Hard-hearted will you have to be to withstand the pleadings for mementos, etc., and there is every probability that when you reach your hotel all that you have left will be the memory of a pleasant afternoon with a ’gator.

THE CRUISE OF THE FROLIC.

BY S. G. W. BENJAMIN.

There is no cruising-ground on the coast of the United States equal to that around Massachusetts Bay, and north as far as Portsmouth. The ports are frequent and generally easy of access, and the variety of scenery, the picturesque nature of the coast, the sea flavor about the character of the people, and the quaintness of the towns of that region invest it with singular raciness and an endless variety of charm. Our yachtsmen are fast finding this out, although I think one can better enjoy and appreciate these attractions when cruising in a small five-tonner than in a large yacht, or in the company of a fleet, for there are many curious nooks which only such a wee ship, off on a roving commission by itself, would think of visiting. And it is this very dodging among these odd corners of our coast that adds especial zest to the enjoyments of your cruising yachtsman.

So much by way of preface to the statement that a lot of jolly sons of Gotham made up their minds, on a certain summer in the eighties, to fly the hurry of Wall Street and the temptations of a sinful metropolis for the pure breezes of ocean, following in the wake of the sea serpent and of the Pilgrim discoverers.

No seaport in America offers so many small craft handy for inexpensive cruising as Boston. And hither Benton, our Corinthian skipper, and the writer of this log hied in search of a suitable sloop or schooner obtainable at a reasonable sum. The keel sloop _Frolic_ was finally selected, and put into proper condition by the addition of fresh paint, new cushions and curtains, a yawl, and the like. Charts and compass, lead and fishing-lines, a new cable, and a stock of provisions, including a supply of fluids, were also put on board; the rigging was set up anew, and last, but not least, the crew was engaged. It consisted of one pock-marked, grizzly-bearded mariner, whose appearance was not altogether in his favor. But he came well recommended; had been mate of a brig, it was stated, and had also sailed in many yachts. He declared himself able and willing to pilot us into every port as far as Eastport, to do “light cooking,” to serve as steward, and bear a hand in working the sloop; he was, in fact, a paragon of nautical excellences. My experience has led me to doubt those who lay claim to such versatility and virtue, whether on land or sea, whether in matters horsey or matters marine. But Mr. Brown was the best who offered, and was therefore regularly enrolled on the ship’s list of the _Frolic_.

Scarcely was everything in readiness when Will Hallett and Frank Weller arrived from New York, and made signals from the wharf that they desired to be taken on board with their traps. For them the proposed cruise was one of unusual interest, as they were novices in cruising, although not altogether ignorant on the score of boat sailing. They anticipated no end of fun, far more, doubtless, than is generally found in these summer wanderings along the coast, which are sources rather of quiet, healthy relaxation than of stirring adventure, and we older hands thought it unwise to quench their young ardor.

There was little wind, but the weather was fine, and it was hoped that with the sunset a breeze might come up that would float us down to Marblehead before midnight. While Brown was loosening the sails a propitiatory libation was offered to Neptune or his representative in those waters. All hands then fell to and set the mainsail and gaff-topsail, and got up the anchor. It was two hours yet until the turn of the tide, and with this to aid the sloop we might easily drop down past the islands, and the moon would light the night watches. But as evening drew on the light westerly air entirely died away, followed shortly after by signs of a fog from the bay.

Under the circumstances the sloop was headed toward Long Wharf, and anchored, amid a cluster of yachts and coasters, south of the main channel. About midnight, the night being very still and ghostly, and a heavy, dripping fog lying on the water, through which the moon and the nearer anchor-lights were barely visible, Benton was aroused by a steady thump, thump, thump. He recognized the sound at once. A large schooner, swinging with the tide, was bearing down on the sloop, threatening to carry away her main-boom. For Benton and Brown to rush from the cuddy in _vestibus naturalibus_, bestride the damp boom and jump into the boat and pull the stern of the sloop out of the way, was but the work of an instant. But, as everything was dripping with fog, the Spartan simplicity of the costume produced a chill which it was thought best to modify without delay by a searching prescription of rye.

The following day opened windless and foggy. In the middle of the forenoon the fog lifted and showed a sullen, ominous offing. By noon a breeze set in from the northeast.

“Let’s get up the mainsail,” said Benton.

“You ain’t agoin’ to sea to-day, be you?” asked Brown.

“Why not?”

“Don’t you see the wind’s dead ahead? We’ll have a dead beat of it down to Marblehead, and if it comes on to blow I guess we’ll get caught out and have to run for a lee, and the fog on the coast just as thick as mud.”

“Oh, I guess not. At any rate, there’s a breeze, and we’ll try it! We’ve got a chart and compass, and if it don’t blow harder than this we’re sure to fetch up inside of Marblehead Light before dark.”

Reaching down to Apple Island, through the main channel, the _Frolic_ fetched a tack up to Shirley Gut, a tortuous channel between Deer Island and Point Shirley, which is impassable except for small vessels. The tide was running out, while the long swell was rolling in. The two meeting on the bar made a mass of boiling foam that looked a great deal more savage than it was in reality, if met with a steady eye and a firm hand at the helm. The tacks here were short, and the _Frolic_, carrying a stiff weather helm, and buoyant as a duck, rapidly and gracefully shivered her sails. and fell off on the other tack every time, flinging the spray aft in sheets. But we were soon clear of this and riding on a green swell enveloped by a mizzling fog. Now and again a coaster suddenly loomed out of the mist and hailed the yacht to learn the bearings of the land. The bold red cliffs of Nahant and Egg Rock were successively passed. Ram Island, off Swampscott, and Roaring Bull, off Marblehead Neck, were gradually seen, or rather the cold white foam that beat against their faint coast line; then the cruel ledge called Tom Moore’s Reef, which the sloop passed with a rush, glad to be clear of such a dread foe under the lee beam. Soon after, Marblehead lighthouse was hailed with satisfaction, for the rising sea and strong gusts coming with growing frequency, made it desirable to reach a safe anchorage before nightfall, now rapidly approaching with the settled foreboding gloom of a gathering storm. Moll Pitcher, the presiding witch of those shores, was evidently brewing foul weather.

Rounding the Light, and easing off the mainsheet, the _Frolic_ flew down the little port and took a snug berth near the quarters of the Eastern Yacht Club. That night it blew great guns, and rained in torrents; but with both anchors down and plenty of scope, in one of the snuggest harbors in the world, we realized that there is nothing more cozy under such circumstances than the cuddy of a trim yacht, with a warm supper and a jolly game of whist.

The _Frolic_ was not much to boast of in the way of size or splendor, but she was comfortable, and that is the chief thing. She was thirty-two feet long over all, and twelve feet beam, and, of course, a keel boat. A centerboard box so reduces the space in the cabin of a small cruising yacht that it should be avoided. A small stove was placed in the forepeak, leaving a narrow transom for the sleeping quarters of the crew. The skipper and friends entirely occupied the main cabin, as it was called with a certain grim humor, where we had just five feet of head-room.

The day broke pleasantly, contrary to expectation, the blow being merely a summer storm. It was Sunday morning, and all hands except Brown went ashore to buy beans and bread for breakfast. That meal over, we turned out for a quiet smoke, when Brown followed instead of remaining below to wash the dishes, a homely but necessary duty which falls on the crew in small yachts. If there be no crew, strictly speaking, the passengers are naturally expected to contribute their labors toward the domestic duties of running a sloop down the coast. It was evident from the look and manner of the aforesaid Brown that trouble was brewing in the forecastle.

“It looks like good weather for running down to Gloucester, Mr. Brown,” said Skipper Benton; “how soon do you think you’ll be cleared up below?”

“I guess you’ll have to go without me,” replied Brown, gruffly.

“How so? What’s up now?”

“Wall, you see, this ’ere job ain’t what I calkilated on. ’Tain’t for me, who’ve been mate of a brig, to be washing of dishes and cooking of food. ’Twan’t so understood when I agreed to go in this ’ere sloop. I’m willin’ for to steer my trick and bear a hand in making sail and the like o’ that; but I understood I was to be skipper aboard, and not steward. I ain’t goin’ on no such job as you are givin’ me; you’ll have to find somebody else in my place.”

“But you understood perfectly well what we expected you to do, and I can bring witnesses to prove it. What you are after is perfectly plain; you want to get an increase in the wages I agreed to give you.”

“Well, and what if I do? You don’t expect me to keep on with you at a dollar and a half a day, and work in this blamed fashion?”

“I certainly did, and I could hold you to your bargain. But we’d rather have you go at once, without another word. We’ll put you ashore, and the sooner you clear out the better. We want no lily-fingered hands on this sloop.”

Brown growled and grumbled, evidently disappointed at the result of the mutiny, but Benton was firm.

The boat was hauled alongside, and the mutinous crew was rowed to the nearest wharf. Lest he should poison the loafers on the wharf against us, one of the party kept within earshot of him, while another went in search of a man to take his place, which was by no means an easy thing to accomplish under the circumstances. Happily Benton had acquaintances among the sea-folk of Marblehead, and by their aid was soon able to engage Uncle Joe, who came on board the _Frolic_ immediately after bidding his wife good-bye. His only fault was his age. He was really too old for service, having passed a good part of a long and well-spent life on the Banks. In other respects he was an admirable specimen of a Marblehead sailor; a clear, honest blue eye gleamed under a broad brow, frosted with white, and a thick snowy beard fringed the lower part of his bluff yet kindly features. He had seen seventy winters, yet stood erect and firm as when he first walked a schooner’s deck; his conversation was a racy combination of simplicity and shrewdness. Uncle Joe’s outfit for the trip was comprehended within a cotton handkerchief. He was a steady smoker of the pipe, but had sworn off from anything stronger than tea and coffee.

Ten minutes after he came aboard, the _Frolic_ was under weigh and bowling across Salem Bay with a stiff westerly breeze abeam. There is not a finer yachting port in America than Salem Bay, with its cluster of islets protecting it from easterly gales, and the group of little harbors--Marblehead, Salem, Beverly, Manchester, and the Misery diverging like the fingers on a hand. For sea picnics in which ladies and children can join, there is no water safer, and at the same time more attractive on our coast.

The _Frolic_ stowed her jib at Misery Island, and came to anchor in its little port, where a boat may make a landing on its miniature beach in all weathers. A quiet night was passed there, and in the morning, while some of our party were bathing, Benton strolled over to the east side of the Misery and painted the beautifully colored rocks of House Island, close at hand. We hasten to add that he did not actually paint the rocks themselves, but made a sketch of them on canvas. This explanation is given because many on that coast would not so understand the phrase. A friend of mine went down to Salem from Boston to take studies of old schooners. Seeing a rusty, picturesque craft lying at Derby Wharf, he said to the old skipper:

“How long are you going to be here, for I should like to paint your schooner?”

“You needn’t bother yourself about a paintin’ of her. I guess I can do all the paintin’ she needs,” replied that ancient worthy, squirting out the tobacco juice, and not condescending to look up from the sail he was mending.

There was to be a yacht race that day at Marblehead, and toward noon the _Frolic_ stood out toward Halfway Rock to see the racers on the home-stretch. The wind was sou’west, a green hump of a sea was heaving up foam to the southward, and the sky looked very hazy to windward. In other words, it was blowing a smoky sou’wester.

Glancing often and anxiously toward that quarter, Benton said:

“I don’t altogether like the look of things to windward; it’s going to blow, and I’m thinking we had better be making tracks for port.”

“I don’t think it’ll amount to anything; it’ll go down with the sun; don’t you think so, Uncle Joe?” asked Frank.

Thus appealed to, the old salt, puffing vigorously on his pipe, closely scanned the offing, and said, “I don’t know about that; it looks kinder measly to windward; one can’t tell much about these sou’westers; they don’t never tell what they’re goin’ to do; but I guess ’twon’t be no harm done if we stand in and smoothen the water a mite afore it comes on to blow. I’m thinkin’, too, we’d better haul the topsail while we can.”

“Aye, aye, take her in, Uncle Joe,” replied Benton, as a smart puff laid the _Frolic_ down to her trunk. Scarcely was the topsail stowed than it became necessary to take a reef in the mainsail as a precautionary measure. The sloop was headed for the Marblehead shore in order to have a lee if the breeze should develop into a heavy squall, as now looked more than probable. The racing yachts were now sweeping by, burying their lee rails and reefing down for the coming blow.

All went well, however, until we came abreast of Marblehead harbor. One glance at that port was enough. The water, an inky black, was furrowed and lashed to foam by a furious squall that was advancing with frightful rapidity. I have never seen the surface of the sea look more wicked.

“Now, boys, be lively! Let go all!” cried Benton, grasping the tiller with both hands and bracing his feet for a good hold.

Frank sprang to the jib downhaul, while the others let go the mainsail halliards, just as the squall struck the yacht. The jib went down on the run, but the throat halliards jammed, and the pressure on the canvas was such that the sloop failed to fall off with the helm hard up. She lay over on her side, half buried in the water, and in the most imminent peril. Springing up the mast and hanging to the hoops, Frank started the gaff. As soon as this was done she began to pay off before the wind. But for the mainsail being reefed the _Frolic_ would have gone down; as it was, her standing room and cuddy were half full of water when she righted.

Brought down to balance-reefed mainsail, the _Frolic_ was steered handsomely under the lee of Peach’s Point and came to anchor in Doliber’s Cove. During this exciting episode a small schooner, caught as we had been, capsized and went down in shoal water, and the crew clung to the mastheads until picked up, while in every direction vessels were seen carrying away spars and sails, and running for a lee.

The squall proved short as it was violent. In two hours everything was balmy and serene, and we decided to steal across the bar by moonlight, leaving it to circumstances to guide us. The idle wind of evening wafted us to the entrance of Manchester port, and under the jib we let the sloop drift until she brought up in the mud and eel-grass, for it was ebb tide. We lay half dozing and dreaming on deck until the turning tide lifted the yacht, and a light air from the southward coyly filled the jib. Thus we glided until fairly among the wharves of a wee little haven inclosed by hills, houses and thickets. The mud-hook was dropped, and with every prospect of a good night’s rest after the vicissitudes of an exciting day, we all turned in, but, as it proved, alas, not to sleep.

The quiet of the cuddy was suddenly broken by a strong English monosyllabic exclamation. Then Frank was heard to give his cheek a smart slap; expressions more or less desperate were now heard from every quarter of the cuddy with alarming frequency and distinctness. It was too true--the ubiquitous, merciless and innumerable musquito had invaded the _Frolic_. He came attended by ten billions of miniature demons thirsting for blood and buzzing a song of triumph, like the distant tuning up of an orchestra of bagpipes in an approaching thunder-storm: these atmospheric sharks drove us pell-mell on deck, but there they seemed not less numerous and infuriating. At length, as a relief, the dingey was drawn alongside, and leaving Uncle Joe to look out for the yacht, the rest of us slowly paddled about the little port. There was no fault to find with the night. It was absolutely serene. The sky’s fathomless purple was without a cloud, spanned by the Galaxy’s illimitable train of mystic splendor reaching up from the south. The moon was at the full, and its argent light turned the little fishing haven into a cave in the land of dreams; by that magical glow old farmhouses and barns were transformed into fairy pavilions, and the fireflies darting hither and thither appeared like the flicker of torches lighting phantom halls. A weather-worn schooner leaning against a barnacled wharf might have passed for Cleopatra’s barge, as she lifted her moon-silvered masts against the stars, her maintruck jeweled by a planet. The stillness was almost awful. “Dear God, the very houses seemed asleep!” At intervals only a melancholy whippoorwill in a distant thicket dared to utter its complaint on this perfect summer night.

Toward dawn the tide began to slacken, and with a line attached to the end of the bowsprit we towed the _Frolic_ to the mouth of Manchester port. Finding no mosquitoes there, and no likelihood of a breeze to disturb us for some hours, we again dropped anchor and enjoyed a delicious slumber until the noisy cocks on the neighboring shores insisted that we awake and see the dawn.

What can equal the solemn splendor of a summer dawn in such a spot! A gradual glow deepened in the cloudless east, and the morning star shimmered on the brow of the coming day, casting a quivering trail of silver on the pale, glassy surface of the ocean. The shores of islet and mainland were thinly veiled by a gray gauze of mist, and the songs of awakening birds came from far and near. The metallic beat of oars on the tholes, heard faintly in the distance, announced that the early fisherman was going forth to catch the early fish. Benton, who had been quietly feasting his artistic eye with this enchanting scene for some time, when the vane of the Manchester-by-the-Sea church caught the first flash from the sun bursting above the sea, put his head down the companion-way and shouted:

“Come, boys, come! Turn out! Sun’s up, and we’ve no time to lose if we are going to get to the Shoals to-day!”

“Oh, pshaw! why not let a fellow sleep awhile?” yawned Hallett; but the discipline of the ship, or rather the delicious fragrance of the morning air, could not be resisted, and ere long the seductive aroma of coffee was noticed stealing from the cuddy. Breakfast dispatched, all sail was made, and before long the _Frolic_ was abreast of Kettle Cove and the pretty settlement of Magnolia. After passing the Cove the breeze freshened, and when off Gloucester harbor the kites were taken in, as the puffs off the land were fresh and frequent. Standing across Milk Island Channel, then impassable owing to the tide, we sailed around Thatcher’s Island, whose trim granite lighthouses, 130 feet high, towered grandly above us. The wind here was very fresh, and the _Frolic_ fairly scooted. To make it easier going we took the dingey on board, laying it across the cabin trunk. The day was fine, and many sails were seen, including those of a number of yachts. Having safely passed Hallibut Point, as the day was warm notwithstanding the breeze, it was deemed prudent to go below and partake of what Dick Swiveller called a “modest quencher.”

Uncle Joe being weary, and Frank being willing to show his seamanship, he was left for a few moments in charge of the tiller, the sloop being under mainsail and jib, and the wind on the port quarter. He knew how to steer reasonably well, and we never knew exactly how it happened that at the precise moment that Benton declared the lemonade to be exactly right the _Frolic_ gybed her main-boom and went over almost on her beam ends. We were all thrown together in a heap; and as for the lemonade--well, the less said about it the better, for it mingled with the flood of water that deluged the cuddy. Puffing and blowing we scrambled on deck, where, happily, nothing had been carried away, but we had a close squeak of it.

After this drenching we found the sloop was just abreast of the entrance to Essex. As we were off on a cruise to nowhither except the land of fun, it suddenly occurred to us that none of us had ever been to Essex. Why not put in there and take a look at things? Out came the chart, which showed a clear but narrow channel hedged by shifting shoals, and with sandbars on each side. The weather being fine, we were soon inside the snow-white sand-hills of the bar, and came to an anchor, as the channel thence to Essex is tortuous, beset with rocks and impassable, except with a favoring tide.

The sunset came on serenely, the golden glow tingeing the white sand-dunes where lay an old wreck. The plaintive wail of the sandpipers hopping on the sand gave an indescribable effect to the quietude of the scene. How pleasant was our long chat that evening with our pipes! Sometimes one spun a yarn of the sea, and then followed an interlude of silence, or a bit of humor that elicited a genial laugh. The stars were thick that night and the dews heavy when we turned in to enjoy a night of calm repose, after voting that there is no out-of-door sport that offers more charms than cruising in a yacht.

The _Frolic_ was left in charge of Uncle Joe the next day. There was a dead calm and promise of a continuance of the same for a day or two, so we started for Essex in the dingey. It was a pull of five or six miles along a winding channel, but we proceeded in a leisurely manner, stopping at various attractive spots on the way. One of these was Cross’ Island, in mid-channel, a hilly islet containing a clump of trees to relieve its bareness. A few shanties were scattered along its slopes, of which the oldest were thrown up years ago for the gentlemen who were in the habit of spending a week or two in October shooting in the neighborhood for water-fowl. One of these shanties was on a rock at the water’s edge, having bunks built into the sides as in a ship. On our return from Essex, two of our party passed the night there, and the sound of the tide rushing under the shanty as one lay in his bunk conveyed the impression of being at sea.

We found Essex a quiet, old-fashioned village of two or three thousand people, offering no special attractions beyond the stock of provisions we obtained there. It was formerly one of the chief ship-building ports of New England; but now one sees only here and there a fishing schooner or coaster on the stocks. The most striking characteristic of the population of that worthy burg is, that the people belong mostly to three families: the Burnhams, Storys and Choates. If one should throw a stone in the streets of Essex, the chances are three to one that it would hit some one bearing one of those names. It is evident that, as in Plymouth, the people are still largely of the old New England stock, a hard-headed, sturdy, close-mouthed, shrewd, sensible, conservative race, not easily swayed, not given to sentiment, but liable to occasional impulses of popular feeling that surprise one who would not look for it in that quarter. During the period of the witchcraft delusions, the people of Essex yielded to the notion that the devil was marching on their place with a legion of evil spirits.

Leaving Frank and Will at Cross’ Island, Benton and the writer returned to the _Frolic_ towards evening. Uncle Joe was seen quietly smoking his pipe on deck, and was rejoiced to see us back. The position of the sloop was exposed, and he was old, and did not care to be in charge alone all night. The boys promised to be back in good season the following morning, hoping to come off in a passing dory. But either they failed to get such conveyance as early as expected, or they found life on the island too agreeable, for they did not put in an appearance until afternoon. The breeze was then too light to reach any place before night, and we were forced to lie at Essex until another day.

The sky looked hazy at sunset, the sun was yellow, and the surf had a deep hollow roar on the bar, all signs indicating a gathering storm of some duration. We therefore moved the _Frolic_ a little north of the berth where she was lying, and kept a watch on deck all night, lest it should come on to blow before dawn. I do not know of a more wild and desolate scene on our coast than where the _Frolic_ was anchored, especially at low tide; on all sides white sands and dunes, or gray sands reaching miles and miles, and the air filled with the spray from the ever-rolling surf, beating on the bar from age to age.

It was scarcely dawn when the writer, the watch on deck having fallen asleep, was awaked by a cold sensation on his side exactly like a snake creeping up his leg. That it must be a slimy reptile was the first thought that flashed across my mind, the more naturally, perhaps, because I once had a centipede leisurely creep on the bare skin from the ankle to the knee. But as soon as I was wide awake, I realized that the _Frolic_ was lying aground on her bilge, and that the bilge-water was pouring into the lee bunks. Either she had not been pumped dry the night before, or her garboard had opened with the strain of lying high and dry. That we should be left by the tide in such a position was due to the extreme low ebb, and the fact that the boat had swung out of the channel. In any case there was nothing to be done but await the course of events.

The sun arose out of a cloud-bank, and the weather looked threatening, but while we were waiting, two of the party walked off across the sands to obtain fresh milk from the house where Rufus Choate was born, which was in plain sight of the bar. While they were gone we put our oil-stove into the dory alongside, and put the kettle on. The crabs were running out to sea by the myriad, and when the water was boiling we picked them out of the water and tossed them into the kettle. It is needless to say that that portion of our breakfast that morning was fresh and appetizing.

By the time the breakfast was eaten it became evident that the sooner we found another port the better, as the wind was piping up out of the northeast and the sea was rising so fast it would drive us ashore when the _Frolic_ floated. But as the tide rose we saw to our surprise that the _Frolic_ did not rise with it, but had settled and lay on the sand like lead, while the water flooded her lee decks. There was not a moment to be lost. Unshipping the block from the jaws of the gaff we attached it to one end of a hawser, at the other end of which was an anchor. This we carried out into deep water in the dingey; then, bowsing on the throat halliards, we brought the _Frolic_ upon an even keel, when she floated. In ten minutes we were under mainsail and jib and beating out to sea. The _Frolic_ staggered under that canvas, but was forced to carry it in order to meet the heavy sea and tide and hold her own in the quick, short tacks in a narrow channel, hedged by sand-shoals white with breakers.

Fairly past that danger, we had to face the question as to the course to be followed. To beat up to the Isles of Shoals or Portsmouth against a freshening northeaster on a lee shore, seemed foolhardy unless for a good reason. We had to choose between running for Cape Ann and a lee, or heading for Newburyport, by way of Plum Island Channel, Ipswich Bay, its entrance being on our lee beam. This being a _terra_ or _aqua incognita_ to us all, offered the zest of novelty. We decided in its favor _nem. con._ The helm was put up and the sheets eased away, and the _Frolic_ galloped over the high seas like a racehorse. The channel here follows the southern shore of the bay past the light-house. That was the only course for us to take, but under the exhilaration of the sea wind we recklessly headed directly over the bar, a piece of folly to which I now look back with amazement, as it was absolutely unnecessary. The _Frolic_ steered rather wildly with a quartering sea, and the swell rose steep, hollow and furious as we approached the bar, which had been bare and above water two hours before. Happily for us, the _Frolic_ whooped over the bar on the top of a great roller, and a moment after we were gliding in smooth water. Had the sloop gone in on the fall of the sea she would have left her bones there, and perhaps her crew as well.

It was a short run from the turning-point to Grape Island, a section of the long, low breakwater called Plum Island which has been thrown up in the course of ages to protect the pastoral shores between Essex and Newburyport, and offer a hunting-ground for sportsmen. Plover, sand-pipers, rail and duck abound there, and the hummocky character of the surface of the island, tufted with sedge and salt grass, and intersected with creeks, offers fine opportunities for stalking the game. Many a rare spirit has found solace on those lonely island moors in the fall of the year in times past, and the region is haunted by legends of wrecks and sporting characters, who have made it a “happy hunting-ground.” One story may not be generally known concerning a certain well-known worthy of thirty years ago, remembered for handling the long-bow as well as the rifle.

“Sand-peeps?” said he to one, who was asking about game on Plum Island--“sand-peeps? why, bless you, there’s millions of them! I crossed over to the island one afternoon in October, and left the dory in a creek. Then I just clamb a little hill and up flew an all-fired big flock of sand-peeps. I up and let fly both barrels at them, but I aimed a leetle too low and they all flew away; but just to show you how thick they are, I picked up a bushel-basket full of legs! A fact!”

There was a cheap hostel, a sort of fifth-rate saloon “for transients,” on Grape Island. The piazza overlooking the sea had a certain attraction, and we decided to try our luck there for a chowder. A clam-chowder was what we got, served without any assumptions of cleanliness. We were waited on by a tall, slender woman, dark complexioned and wearing large yellow earrings. She had been handsome once, but now wore that spiritless, faded look one sees so often in our seaport towns down east, as if hardship, disappointment and a diet of saleratus biscuit had filled life with a general disgust. She was evidently of the mixed race one sees in that region, formed by Pilgrim stock intermarrying with the Portuguese who settled at Marblehead and Cape Ann. The chowder was poor and the beer very small beer indeed, but I look back with intense pleasure to the hours idly passed that summer afternoon on the porch of the inn, quietly smoking and gazing over the green slopes of Ipswich dotted with peaceful farms, the winding steel-gray waters of the channel, the russet moors of the island, and the vast expanse of ocean deeply blue and flashing with white crests.

The storm we had expected seemed deferred to another day, for the sun set clear and took away the wind with it. In the twilight a little whiffling air came up from the sea, and we concluded to run up to Ipswich. But the wind died away, and at ten o’clock we were merely drifting with the tide, under the jib. The sky was clear, but the moon was still not risen, and it was exceedingly dark. It was a weird night, whose silence was only broken by the sudden, startling scream of a seabird, the distant boom of the surf and the swash of the tide on the shallows and against the bow of the yacht. We became aware, at last, that the hills were closing in around us, and the anchor was dropped within a few yards of the shore.

We were awakened by the low of cattle, apparently not a dozen yards from the sloop, and the rumble of a wagon over a bridge. But on putting our heads above the companionway we could see nothing, the fog was so dense, excepting here and there the faint ghostlike form of a tree. There was nothing until the dripping mist thinned out for a moment and enabled us to discover that we had run up the Parker River, and were anchored within a stone’s-throw of Oldtown Bridge, a venerable stone structure erected in 1718. If we had continued 100 yards farther than we did in the dark, the _Frolic_ would have carried away her mast against the bridge.

The tide left us this time flat on the ooze of the river bed; there was nothing to be done but go on a foraging expedition after milk, eggs, fresh bread and meat, all of which provisions were now scant in our lockers. The village seemed to number about a dozen houses and as many barns, and the people appeared to have been born and brought up in a fog, to judge from the obfuscation of their faculties. They acted as if they had been asleep since the days when pirates made descents on the coasts, robbed henroosts, cast sheep’s-eyes at the women folks and hid treasure in caves. The good people glared at us as if they had never seen respectable men in sea-boots, blue-flannel shirts and sea-caps. The young girls peeked at us through cracks behind the doors, giggling in a most entertaining manner. We little thought when we set sail that we were destined to give as much pleasure to these simple-minded rustics of Newbury Oldtown as an Italian with a barrel-organ and monkey, nor that we should be the cause of such breaking of the tenth commandment on their part. The barnyards were well stocked with cows, and healthy brahmas were cackling before every door; but at every house we were told in the most emphatic manner that milk and eggs were not to be found in Oldtown at that particular time. One man plucked up courage to answer a few of our questions, but like the rest, his cows were short of milk and his fowls did not lay enough eggs to pay for their keeping. To take these people at their word, Oldtown was the most godforsaken spot on the globe. One dried-up specimen of womanhood was hanging out her clothes on the line when we appeared at her gate: hearing the latch click, she looked around sharply and received a shock that must have shortened her days. Exclaiming, “Sakes alive!” she dropped the garment from her hand, rushed into the house and slammed and bolted the door in our faces. It was useless to apply for provisions there.

Finally, at the very last house in the village we found a family who actually asked us to walk in, offered us seats and a drink of milk, and supplied us with fresh eggs, milk and buns for a reasonable price. Their hospitality was thoroughly appreciated and is not forgotten.

When the fog rose the wind rose also, a regular stiffener out of the northeast. The little _Frolic_ beat up the exceedingly narrow and winding channel under a press of sail, working beautifully in the short tacks with her lee rail buried half the time. When we reached Newburyport the drawbridge flew up, and dashing through we anchored in the Merrimac, near the railroad-bridge, at three ~P. M.~, just as it began to screech out of the northeast; and howl it did for two days, while the rain fell in torrents. The _Frolic_ hung on, with both anchors down, and a long scope of cable. But when the wind backed into the nor’west the second night for an hour or two, and blew down the swollen river, which ran like a mill-race, it looked as if the yacht would drag her anchors and be blown on Plum Island or out to sea. Luckily everything held, and the wind was soon back in the old quarter. We had a fine period of leisure during the gale for sleeping, reading up all the old novels on board, and living like fighting-cocks on shore, where we found a fine old negro, whose thrifty wife has no superior on that coast for roasting chickens and cooking coffee.

It came out fine after the gale, the wind soft and bland and the sea as enchanting as if it had not been doing its level best to shift the sands of Newburyport bar and strew the coast with wrecks. We hung out all the muslin and stood over to the Isles of Shoals. After dining at the Appledore, we started for Portsmouth. The glow of a superb sunset suffused land and sea and sky as we slid past the Whaleback Light and anchored in the Piscataqua, off Newcastle.

The following morning, when the flood-tide set in, we ran up past Pull-and-be-dam Point, and the other intricacies which render the approach to Portsmouth a matter of care and patience, and anchored in a creek opposite the Navy Yard. Here we were detained for nearly four days by a dense fog, sometimes accompanied by rain, which made it inexpedient to run along the coast. While lying at Portsmouth we repeatedly availed ourselves of the hospitalities of the Rockingham House, a small but admirable hotel. Finally the fog cleared away, and, in company with several other yachts detained like the _Frolic_, we were able to put to sea. Our long detention at the last two ports made it necessary to head for home. We passed the first night of our return voyage at Pigeon Cove. The entrance is only wide enough to admit the passage of one ship. The following day we towed the _Frolic_ out in a calm, and took a breeze off Straitmouth Channel. The tide being well up, we concluded to try this hazardous passage, which is only reasonably safe at high tide with a leading wind. We were bowling along quietly and comfortably, when in a most unexpected manner the _Frolic_ landed on the top of a rock scarce four feet below the surface. She was caught only by the stern-post and the bow lay loose. The rock was evidently steep and pointed, for the yacht rocked dangerously from side to side and threatened to capsize. We all ran forward to the bow, and our weight depressed the bow and caused the stern to float. Our escape was such a relief that we felt it essential to offer a libation to Bacchus.

Once through the channel, we took a staving nor’west breeze, which swept us down to Point Shirley by four o’clock. By careful manœuvring we succeeded in bringing the _Frolic_ safely back to her berth opposite Long Wharf in time to go on shore and take a bath, followed by a jolly dinner at one of the excellent restaurants with which Boston is better supplied now than it was only a few years ago.

Thus ended a cruise which was attended by no remarkable adventures nor extended over much time, but was none the less attended by much pleasure as well as decided advantages to the health of all concerned. We earnestly recommend a similar experience to the reader, simply adding that cruising on that coast requires experience in things nautical, and is sufficiently hazardous not to be trifled with by those who are ignorant of seamanship and boat-sailing. Before closing, the writer would suggest that for cruising and dodging from port to port, I find the schooner rig preferable to that of the sloop, and should not again select a sloop for such a purpose. Small schooners of the size of the _Frolic_ are much more common in New England than New York. But such are the advantages of this rig that it is singular it is not more the fashion for cruising in an inexpensive manner.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Editor’s Open ~Window~.]

FOR VOLUME XIV.

~Outing~ closes its thirteenth volume with this issue. The many readers that have come to us since we began the volume last October furnish an unmistakable evidence that ~Outing~ has given great satisfaction to the lovers of sport. Slowly and steadily ~Outing~ has improved. But the changes hitherto made have not been so marked as those about to be made.

The success of ~Outing~ has been brought about by striving to present, in the most attractive dress, both artistic and literary, only such subjects as appeal, directly and closely, to the tastes and proclivities of the ever-increasing army of genuine lovers of sport and recreation.

In the fourteenth volume of ~Outing~, the best literature, descriptive of every phase of legitimate sport as participated in by ladies and gentlemen, will predominate.

In the hands of such mighty hunters as the late Gen. R. B. Marcy, Lieutenant Robertson, Mr. G. O. Shields and Capt. Jack Crawford, the crack of the rifle will be heard in the pages of ~Outing~. The almost inaccessible fastnesses of the gigantic mountain chains which traverse America and provide a very paradise for the lover of the biggest kind of game hunting will be penetrated, and the thrilling scenes and exciting adventures of following the elk, moose, bear, deer and other game will be presented to our readers.

The streams, rivers and lakes of this continent afford finer fishing than any other quarter of the globe. The salmon of the St. Lawrence and Saskatchewan, the lordly muskallonge of the Nor’west, the bass and trout of a thousand streams from Maine to California offer such sport as is not to be mentioned in the same breath with what one gets on the fly-whipped waters of Scotland, Ireland and Norway; and ~Outing~ will present to its readers authentic records of the experiences of the best known adepts of this most fascinating sport.

Nothing is more remarkable in the general athletic revival of to-day than the great attention that is given to the physical recreation and development of the fair sex. This good work ~Outing~ has always fostered, and to lead our gentle sisters into the joyous sports afield, we will offer them articles on camping, rowing and swimming, and also practical hints for horsemanship and fishing.

Recognizing that the dog is the sportsman’s best friend and most constant companion, ~Outing~ is ready with a series of papers on the breeding, breaking and training of the different breeds of dogs used in the chase. Mr. Mercer will treat of Clumber Spaniels, Mr. Anthony of Pointers, and other writers will write of setters and hounds for deer-coursing, hunting, etc.

For the sportsman who, over lea and bracken and swamp and meadow and upland, follows the partridge, the quail and the woodcock, ~Outing~, in the coming volume, will have a rich treasure of useful as well as interesting reading. We have reminiscences of duck shooting in Canada, California, Oregon and other celebrated haunts, not forgetting, of course, the pleasures of Chesapeake Bay and the delights of the Carolinas and Florida.

In the field of general athletics, ~Outing~ may justly claim to have done much; and the appreciation already manifested in our Club and College articles by all classes of readers has determined us to give this branch of our work its full share of prominence in the coming volume.

Summer field sports will, of course, find ample representation in ~Outing~. Mr. H. J. Slocum, Jr., Mr. Taylor, and other prominent players and writers on Lawn Tennis, will fully describe the interest taken in this widely popular game. Articles will appear on tennis on the Pacific slope, the South, and the more brilliant achievements at Newport, Staten Island, Orange, and other fashionable centres of the game. Cricket in England, Australia and America will be fully discussed, while Baseball, Lacrosse, and the popular pastime of Lawn Bowls, will be the themes of handsomely illustrated articles.

Rowing has at all times been a most popular exercise among college and club men, and ~Outing~ will publish a very valuable series of papers on the ~Evolution of Form in College and Amateur Rowing~. The recognized leading authorities on this subject have prepared these articles, and they will be one of the most attractive features of the coming numbers. While properly representing the brethren of the oar, ~Outing~ has by no means forgotten the wielders of the paddle, and canoeists will find many a pleasant sketch of cruising and camping in the summer pages of ~Outing~.

In Yachting matters ~Outing~ has always led the van, and we propose to present to our aquatic friends a fine galaxy of yachting literature during the coming season. The Larchmont Club will open the ball, and this article will be followed by others on the Seawanhaka, Eastern, and other prominent organizations. The illustrations for these articles will embrace reproductions from photographs of the leading flyers and “cracks” in each fleet, and the whole will be a most valuable collection of modern boats.

The marvelous results that can be obtained by the modern instantaneous camera, and the comparatively little trouble given by adding an outfit to one’s camp or field kit, makes photography a prominent feature in any expedition nowadays. In fact, photography may be aptly called a picture diary, which chronicles scenes and episodes more vividly and graphically than the most brilliant and epigrammatic collection of notes. ~Outing~ will, therefore, furnish a series of short, pithy papers on photography, and Mr. Ellerslie Wallace, who writes the articles, is an instructor from whom all will be proud to learn.

Continent may differ from continent, nation from nation, in language, religion, and government, but sport is cosmopolitan, its literature is universal, its followers are brothers all the world over. Thus we find sportsmen in Europe are just as eager to read the doings by “flood and field” in America as Americans are interested in all that appertains to sport across the sea. ~Outing~, then, must of necessity be international, and with this idea in view the Editor and Manager of ~Outing~ went to Europe recently to look over the field in England and on the continent, and returned bringing many MSS. and illustrations with him in his portmanteau, and his pockets lined with contracts for articles that will make the fourteenth volume an evidence of a good work done.

“Plantagenet,” whose name is familiar wherever English sport is known, will contribute regularly hereafter, and his introduction in this issue is sufficient to acquaint those who never read his writings with the great gain this connection brings to ~Outing~ in the department of hunting and racing on British soil.

“Rockwood,” who has heretofore occasionally written for our pages, will hereafter address us at frequent intervals on sport with the _Rod and Gun_. “Redspinner,” than whom none writes better of the pleasures of Walton’s disciples, will contribute a series of papers. Mr. Dalziel, who has become one of the best living authorities on the _Kennel_, has taken in hand the kennel interests in Great Britain; and Mr. R. H. Moore, the clever English dog-artist, will furnish the illustrations, so that ere Vol. 14 closes the friends of the Kennel will have secured with its six numbers a pretty good history on matters canine in England and America. Lady Arnold has contributed a series of articles on _Yachting_, to be followed by valuable papers on this subject from other writers. A special correspondent has been sent by ~Outing~ to the Mediterranean, and Yachting in Southern Europe will be the topic of a series of valuable papers to our yachtsmen.

Friends of the wheel have been specially cared for, and Mr. Joseph Pennell, who needs no introduction to cyclers, is now engaged on a series of articles and illustrations that will give ~Outing~ a new look altogether. But, aside from these and other valuable papers, we have the pleasure of announcing the return of Mr. Howarth from the Azores, whither he was sent by ~Outing~, at great expense, with cycle, gun, and camera, to explore the islands of the sea; and the articles on _Cycling in Mid-Atlantic_, illustrated by Harry Fenn and Joseph Pennell, will prove one of the greatest attractions that any magazine ever offered to its readers. Lady Brierly will contribute papers on the horse; and last, but not least, the greatest of sporting writers, Capt. Hawley Smart, is now completing a sporting novel for ~Outing~ that will run through at least six numbers, and be one of the best stories ever given to magazine pages.

~Outing~ has spared no pains to secure the best artists to illustrate its excellent literary material, and with such a staff at our command as Harry Fenn, Henry Sandham, A. C. Corbould, Joseph Pennell, M. J. Burns, R. H. Moore, J. W. Fosdick, Marie Guise, Eugene Bauer, and others of minor note, the readers may look forward to seeing each subject that is illustrated done ample justice to.

~Outing~ having thus an international field to work in, the American editors have called to their assistance a thoroughly competent English editor, whose authority and reputation on all sporting topics is admitted on both sides of the Atlantic. For this most important position we are happy in obtaining the services of no less a light than the world-renowned “Borderer,” who for the past decade has been one of the leading contributors to every publication of reputation in England, and whose knowledge and judgment in sporting matters is second to none. He needs no further introduction from us; let him speak for himself.

* * * * *

INTRODUCING OUR ENGLISH EDITOR.

I cannot outdo the Ethiopian in changing the color of my skin--even in putting on a new coat, the color must be the same. The question of its fitting is a serious one, and you know, readers, how uneasy and uncomfortable a thing it is to wear a new garment for the first time. You feel like a marked man. When a schoolboy you were pinched by all the other boys in commemoration of the event, and however proud you may have been of the fit, it took the edge considerably off your conceit to be asked, “Who’s your tailor?”

And now that my old garment--the delight of many a play hour, the warm friend of my youth, the custodian of my body in many a sport, the well-worn aid to health and strength--has been thrown aside and taken to the old-clothes shop to be refitted, I find myself very like the nervous schoolboy about to run the gauntlet of fresh critics, and perhaps ruthless ones; critics who know not the Borderer of old; who have not followed his rambling prose through many years, and caught the drift of his sporting thoughts; critics, too, whose tastes may not be so thoroughly in harmony with his as those of yore. And yet, perhaps the fear is greater than the reason for it, and on the score of plenary indulgence at starting, I shall try to make my new garment, the English editorship of ~Outing~, as appreciable as possible to my new acquaintances. Would that I could say with Oliver Goldsmith--

“He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.”

~Outing~ is now our pet. Through it Borderer can speak to the world of sport.

What makes Jack a dull boy? The lack of ~Outing~.

“Funny name, that,” exclaimed a friend of mine the other day, “but, after all, very expressive.”

How we all look forward to our ~Outing~! Even those who have little chance of enjoying it. Do not they also count the days of its possible coming? Every one to his taste. We are off, like greyhounds from the slips, eager for sport, recreation or travel. Here still oftener, and for a modest sixpence, is ~Outing~, to make you learned in sport all the world over, and more worthy of your real happy outing when it comes. As money and modes of locomotion increase and multiply, so will ~Outing~ flourish until it spreads its happy pages, like eagles’ wings, throughout the world. Neither sea nor land will stop the echo and re-echo of its outspoken thoughts, and proportionately great will be the responsibility of its utterances, as well as of those in whom it will confide as authors. To be a sportsman is one thing--to write of sport is another. “I must be cruel only to be kind,” says Shakespeare. So truth, honesty and uprightness shall be our leading characteristics. A true sportsman should be bold as a lion, steady as a rock, quick as an arrow, ’cute as a coon, cautious as a man, hard as nails, sober as a judge, with the temper of an angel, the eve of a lynx, the voice of a siren, and the nerve of a hero.

Taking these mighty attributes with us, my readers, let us launch our good ship on its transatlantic voyage. Let us fancy ourselves like bold Æneas of old, about to venture on new scenes, and interview the grandees of far-off countries, carrying with us the dauntless standard of sport. Ever foremost in the fray, ever aloft as the acme of delight, ever where virtue and destiny call--then Borderer’s reward will be signaled by the boundless success of his new venture--

~Outing~.

~Borderer.~

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DOG CHAT.

Negotiations are now in progress between the presidents of the National Dog Club of America and the American Kennel Club, with the object of bringing about some amicable arrangement between factions, and it is quite on the cards that ere this is read they will have amalgamated, the members of the N. D. C., in all probability joining as associate members of the A. K. C. The objectionable feature of the “associate” scheme, insufficient representation, has been eliminated. Every 100 members will be privileged to elect a representative who will be on the same footing as the delegates of the kennel clubs. This should prove an eminently satisfactory arrangement.

It has been made evident that public sentiment leans to the elder organization (another demonstration of the incomprehensibility of _vox populi_), and kennel matters, to all appearance, will be best advanced by every one’s falling into line, and thereby securing a voice in the government of dogdom. The A. K. C. makes fair promises, which, if fulfilled, should satisfy all. If they fail, why, the traces can be again kicked over.

This will be a busy season in dogdom, as an important show is scheduled-for each week from January to the end of April, and others, not as yet announced, will probably run well on into the month of May. Truly may it be said that dog shows are advancing in public favor when such can be the case.

The four important Field Trial meetings (those of the Indiana, Eastern, Southern and American F. T. clubs) are now things of the past, and taking them as a whole they have not received the liberal patronage of former years. As usual, the Memphis and Avent Kennel of Tennessee has swept everything before it, and equally, of course, the blood of old “Count Noble” is again to the front.

The Hempstead fox-terrier coursing has caused a considerable stir of late. While I am not in sympathy with the proceedings of the “Alphabetical” Society in this matter, I cannot make out just where the “sport” comes in in seeing a benumbed and scared “bunny” chased and killed by terriers. We are told that the “course” frequently takes less than thirty seconds’ time to decide, and that the rabbit _never escapes_. Now this, to my way of thinking, damns it as a field sport, the fascination in which is the element of uncertainty it contains; the knowledge that your skill and training, or your dog’s, is pitted against the natural cunning and quickness of the beast or bird pursued, and in the knowledge that the quarry has a chance for its life. Take away this and I am sure field sports will lose many of those who are at present devoted to them. Give the rabbits fair “law,” a chance for their lives, then it will be a legitimate sport.

An extraordinarily high-priced lot of greyhounds recently changed hands under the hammer in London. They were the property of Mr. Dent, who has given up coursing for the present. The puppy Fullerton was sold at 850 guineas to Colonel North, while Bit o’ Fashion was bought by the same purchaser for 200 guineas, also Miss Glendyne for 510 guineas. Huic Holloa fetched 350 guineas, and Jester 190 guineas. The prices paid throughout were high.

The English St. Bernard, Prince Battenberg, who once beat Plinlimmon, is for sale. His owner, Mr. King-Patten, announces that he has received an offer of 2,000 guineas for the dog, from an American. I fear some one has been “pulling his leg.”

~Dogwhip.~

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COLLEGE SPORTS.

Exceptionally fine weather, October temperature, has made it possible for active college youths to practice various pastimes which are usually relegated to obscurity or the gymnasium during the cold winter months. Games of ball, lacrosse and tennis have been played in the open air, and in some places crews have been out in their frail shells. That boating will be very popular this spring seems assured if the interest shown by Yale, Harvard, Columbia, Cornell, and the University of Pennsylvania in the doings of their respective crews is any indication. With the return to college from the Christmas vacation the serious work of training conscientiously and intelligently began, and now the weeding-out process will soon begin. Harvard naturally expects great things from the tank. In January, the crew was able to do some rowing on the Charles, which, with work in the gymnasium and in the tank has given the crew a very good send-off. At no time previous has there been so wide-spread an interest in correct, scientific rowing as at present, and every effort is made by the captain to get the most out of his crew, not as one ordinarily would suppose, by getting his men to develop muscle and pull for all there was in them, but by studying the possibilities of each member and so combining them according to scientific principles as to yield the best results. This method is in vogue at Harvard and at Yale, where Bob Cook and prominent graduates, members of former crews, for months before the great race, consult and figure upon the material at hand, and endeavor to get it into shape.

The other sports, baseball and track athletics, are not being neglected by their admirers. The fleetfooted sprinters have been taking part in the several meetings of the Amateur Union and the National Association, and are consequently in comparatively good trim. With this attention to sport which the majority of college youths give, even in the many small institutions which can not boast of possessing well-equipped gymnasiums and track facilities, there is fast growing up a race which will be as superior to the men of to-day as the present generation of young men is superior to those of twenty years ago.

~J. C. Gerndt.~

[Illustration: ~THE OUTING CLUB.~]

WHAT YACHTING COSTS.

What does yachting cost? That to be able to own and properly maintain a large yacht a man must have a good solid bank account to draw upon, is a truth; but that one in very moderate circumstances may enjoy all the pleasures of yachting is also true. Where there is one man who is able to own and run an _Electra_ or a _Volunteer_, there are hundreds of Corinthian yachtsmen who have “fun alive” with boats of from fifteen to forty feet in length.

To state exactly, or even approximately, what yachting costs is well-nigh as difficult as to guess the correct number of hairs on a man’s head. But a very good general idea may be obtained by drawing deductions from well-known data.

If old Commodore John C. Stevens, the first flag-officer of the New York Yacht Club, were alive to-day, he would be surprised as well as delighted to observe the wonderful growth and improvement yachting has made since his time, nearly half a century ago, and no doubt he would hold up his hands in amazement at the increase in the luxuriousness of the appointments of a yacht during the same period.

The New York Yacht Club was organized in 1844, by Mr. Stevens and others, and was the outcome of the first organized effort ever made in this country to popularize yachting. The yachts of those days were few in number, and of small tonnage, The _Maria_, Commodore Stevens’ last yacht, though in her time a giant among her sister yachts, would be rated as only of average size compared with the larger pleasure craft of to-day. Her appointments, too, though far superior to those of her contemporaries, were very commonplace and inexpensive as compared with the palatial luxuriance of the interior fittings of any of the large yachts now afloat. To spend $20,000 at that time in building and equipping a yacht was considered extraordinary, if not a financial impossibility, for any man except Commodore Stevens, who, as the owner of nearly all of Hoboken and Weehawken, was estimated to be about the wealthiest man in America.

Since the organization of the New York Yacht Club, however, and especially since the success of the yacht _America_ in England, each succeeding year has witnessed a multiplication of yachts, an increase in their size, and especially an augmentation of the luxuriance of their furnishings that have excited the wonder and admiration of the yachting world.

The yachts _America_, _Julia_, _Una_, and _Widgeon_, of the early period of American yachting history, were prodigies of their day and generation in respect to speed and size. All four were productions of that famous designer, George Steers, and were invincible against vessels built by other designers of the period. In this respect Edward Burgess, of Boston, concededly holds to-day the place occupied by George Steers thirty-five years ago; and the former designer’s _Puritan_, _Mayflower_, _Sachem_, and _Volunteer_ have to-day a relative standing among yachts very much like that which George Steers’ productions enjoyed in their generation.

The total cost of all the yachts of forty years ago was less than that of Mr. William K. Vanderbilt’s yacht _Alva_ alone. Two hundred thousand dollars would have been sufficient to buy the entire fleet. Year by year the amount of money expended for yachts has kept pace with the steady increase of the wealth of the country, till now it exceeds several millions of dollars annually. What the magnificent fleet of vessels which constitute the squadron of the New York Yacht Club to-day cost to build, rig, spar and furnish, represents an outlay of more than $3,500,000. The yachts at present enrolled in the New York Yacht Club number 184. Of these sixty-seven are schooners, sixty-five sloops, cutters and yawls, forty-six steamers and six launches. The tonnage of these 184 vessels aggregates 18,000 tons. The very best estimate obtainable from figures shows that it costs $200 per ton to build, rig, and fully furnish the average American yacht ready for cruising.

Instead of the one yacht club of 1844, there were on May 1, 1888, 101 incorporated yacht clubs in America. Of the yachting associations not yet advanced to the dignity of incorporated bodies, there are doubtless from two to three times as many more. These clubs are to be found in almost every harbor on the great lakes, and on every bay, lake, river and creek from one end of the land to the other. In fact, wherever there is a sufficient body of water to sail some kind of a boat upon, there will surely be found some sort of an association for the promotion of yachting. From very careful estimates made from records of yacht building, rigging and furnishing, which have been kept for years, the total tonnage of all sailing or steam vessels owned and run exclusively for purposes of pleasure in this country, on May 1, 1888, was 203,575, representing an aggregate money-value investment of $40,715,000. In view of these large figures, and they are increasing every year, the widespread and increasing interest taken in yachting events is hardly to be wondered at. The money estimate must be more than doubled, too, when “running expenses” are considered.

It is with a yacht very much as it is with a horse--it is not so much the buying as the keeping that makes the money go. The first cost of a yacht is, of course, very heavy, and it is estimated that this outlay, with the money spent in keeping the boats and running them, annually puts in circulation millions of dollars. The greatest item of expense in running a yacht is the pay of the crew. A vessel like the _Volunteer_, for example, gives employment for six months of the year to fifteen men. Mr. Vanderbilt’s steam-yacht _Alva_ carries a crew of 100 men, and the smaller of the cabin-yachts, say of about twenty-five tons, require, to properly handle them, a sailing-master, cook, and three men before the mast. All told, the yachts of the New York Yacht Club furnish employment of this kind to more than 2,500 men, to whom the yacht owners pay not less than $125,000 per month for six months of each year, or $750,000 for the six months. As the average number of yachts belonging to each of the 101 yacht-clubs of the country is thirty-three, the result shows that there is, or was on May 1, 1888, a total of 3,333 yachts enrolled in the incorporated yacht clubs of the United States; and carrying out the extensions as based upon the estimate of the New York Yacht Club, the results show that these 3,333 yachts give employment to 45,289 men, to whom wages amounting to $2,264,450 are paid monthly, or the enormous sum of $13,586,700 for a season of six months. It may be not altogether proper to base the number and pay of crews for the yachts of the whole country upon figures of the New York Yacht Club, for the vessels of that club undoubtedly ton higher on the average than the vessels of the less prominent clubs; but it must be remembered that in getting at these figures only the incorporated associations have been considered, and the hundreds and even thousands of yachts belonging to minor associations, and the many yachts which fly the flag of no club at all, have not been taken into the calculation. From this point of view, the figures for crews and their salaries as given above furnish about as good an idea of the totals as it is possible to obtain.

Again, a yacht which is kept up in good shape has to have her rigging renewed constantly, and then there are the items of new sails, repainting and overhauling on the dry dock. These expenses cannot be estimated, and it is simply impossible to make a respectable guess, but it amounts to hundreds of thousands of dollars each year.

One of the largest, and in some respects the largest, item of expense in running a yacht is the steward’s department, but it is impossible even to approximately estimate what is annually spent in this very important department. One yacht owner may spend $15,000 a year entertaining a great number of guests at his table, while another man, with the same yacht may find one-third of that amount ample for the same purpose; but the sum of money put in circulation for ship stores and table furnishings may safely be put down as double the sum per month paid to the crew and officers in wages, or $1,500,000 for the yachting season of six months of the fleet of the New York Yacht Club alone. Thus the total amount of money put in circulation in one season by the yacht owners of this one club will not fall short of $3,500,000.

If the expenditure for maintaining the 184 yachts of the New York Yacht Club is $3,500,000 a year, it is not improbable that not less than $7,000,000 is spent on the 3,333 pleasure and racing craft of the 101 yacht clubs of the entire country for a like period of time.

There are other expenses which can be neither classified nor estimated, such as, for instance, the hiring of extra men for races; the payment of prize money to the crews of race-winners; repairs following collisions, running ashore, carrying away of sails and spars, and a thousand-and-one other things. Altogether, it is not overestimating the case to say that American yacht owners put $7,000,000 into the hands of workmen and tradesmen last year, and this amount bids fair to increase annually. That which is put into new boats is not included in this calculation at all, and easily amounted to $1,000,000 more.

The steamers and the large sloops built of recent years have tended to very greatly augment the expenditure of money on yachts. The steamers, especially, are a very expensive luxury. With them the coal bill is an additional and large item.

Some very wild estimates have been made as to what it costs to run one of the largest steam-yachts. It has been said that it costs Jay Gould $3,000 a day to run the _Atalanta_. This is absurd. Vice-Commodore E. A. Bateman, of the American Yacht Club, who owns the steam-yacht _Meteor_, once was heard to say that he ran her at an expense of $35 a day; and several years ago, when Mr. James Gordon Bennett owned the _Dauntless_, and was commodore of the New York Yacht Club, he is said to have remarked that it cost him $25,000 a year to entertain his guests alone. Probably the most expensively run yacht to-day is the _Electra_, the flagship of the New York Yacht Club. It is said that she costs Commodore Gerry $35,000 a year. But a yacht of fifty tons, if economy be practiced, and she be not raced, may be run at a very modest cost.

Many thousands of men enjoy all the sport to be had out of pleasure-sailing in a craft whose first cost, completely equipped, was but $1,000 or less. Such a yacht can be run at a very slight expense. Craft of this kind are called “single-handers,” from the fact that it requires but one man to handle them. Their number is large at present, and they are rapidly growing in popular favor. If the cost of such vessels, of yachts which are not enrolled in any club, and the boats of the numerous canoe-clubs, were added to the figures given as representing the amount invested in the pleasure vessels of the United States, the aggregate would be something enormous.

~ROBERT DILLON.~

HOW’S THIS FOR BASS?

There are odd places in and around the waters of New York where the enthusiastic fisherman can find plenty of sport at his favorite pastime. One day, toward the close of September, W. E. Sibley, of this city, an angler of some repute, and a companion, Mr. Del. Ruch, of Clifford’s, Staten Island, set out to troll for striped bass in the Great Kills. After they had trolled for some time, and had landed only a few one and two pounders, the sport grew tame, and Del. Ruch left Sibley’s boat and joined another fisherman to change his luck. Instead of Ruch finding luck it came to Sibley. In a few minutes after Ruch had left, Sibley’s troll was seized, and he found himself struggling with a bass of more than ordinary fight. A lively tussle took place. The fish had no idea of surrendering, and for half an hour the fish and the fisherman had a nip-and-tuck time of it. Finally the bass, wearied and worn out, yielded slowly, and when it was brought alongside of the boat it showed up magnificently. It was a monster. Though conquered, the fish was not captured. A difficulty arose regarding the ways and means about getting it into the boat. There was no gaff-hook handy. Mr. Sibley was perplexed. The thought of losing that bass, when it was so near and yet so far, nearly unnerved him. He was equal to the occasion, however. Holding the line stiff, Sibley ran his hand along the fish, slipped it in beneath the immense gill covering, and lugged the big fellow into the boat after a great effort. When measured and weighed, it lacked just half an inch of three feet, and tipped the scale at eighteen pounds. It is said to be the largest striped bass on record caught within twenty miles of New York.

OUR THEATRICAL PLAYGROUND.

“THE PLAYERS.”

Perhaps the most notable event in the players’ world, with which the new year was ushered in, was the presentation by Edwin Booth to the organization of leading actors known as “The Players,” of a magnificent club-house in Grammercy Park. As the old year drew to a close there assembled a brilliant audience of players and guests, and at the stroke of twelve Mr. Booth handed over the deed to the property to Mr. Augustin Daly, of “The Players.” Mr. Booth closed his presentation speech in the following happy manner: “Though somewhat past the season, let us now fire the Yule-log, with the request that it be burnt as an offering of ‘love, peace and good-will to The Players.’ While it burns, let us drink from this loving cup, bequeathed by William Warren of loved and honored memory to our no less valued Jefferson, and by him presented to us; from this cup and this souvenir of long ago--my father’s flagon--let us now, beneath his portrait and on the anniversaries of this occupation, drink: To the Players’ Perpetual Prosperity.”

Mr. Daly responded appropriately in behalf of the club, and after a general grasping of hands, all adjourned to feast around the generous board. In every way this new home is most complete, and the decorations are handsome and solid. In the lounging room are two oil paintings by Joseph Jefferson. Beside them hangs Sir Joshua Reynolds’ celebrated portrait of David Garrick. There is also a Gainsborough, and a portrait of John Gilbert by J. Alden Weir. A goodly collection of dramatic literature fills the library on the second floor, Mr. Booth having presented 1,200 volumes, and Mr. Lawrence Barrett 2,000, besides a large number of rare works from Augustin Daly, T. B. Aldrich, Stanford White and others. An excellent maxim is found directly above the great seal of the order, which is inserted in the ornamental brickwork under the mantelpiece. It reads thus:

“Good friends, for friendship’s sake forbeare To utter what is gossip heare In social chatt, lest unawares Thy tongue offende thy fellow-plaiers.”

OLD ENGLISH COMEDY.

For his annual comedy revival Mr. Daly has chosen Capt. George Farquhar’s “The Inconstant; or, the Way to Win Him.” This play has not been seen in this city since 1873, and in Mr. Daly’s hands the somewhat doubtful _morale_ of the play has been improved, and thus the revival was practically a first performance of the play. The change to suit modern ideas has been admirably effected, though possibly the fifth

## act might have been subjected to closer censorship. It is needless to

say that Mr. Daly’s band of players acted their parts well. The public has come to accept that as almost a foregone conclusion. Miss Rehan as _Oriana_ is the same person that has pleased us so long, but in the mad scene she strikes a key that is almost pathetic. The “Inconstant” may be looked upon as a success.

SHAKESPEARE AT PALMER’S.

Play-goers in New York have no reason to feel dissatisfied with the feast spread before them this season. Shakespeare has not been neglected for the newer generation of writers. Rarely has a play, however, been put on the stage in a more complete way, with greater magnificence and attention to details, than “Antony and Cleopatra.” Mr. Abbey has spared no expense, and surely it would be difficult to find an actress to look the part better than Mrs. James Brown Potter. Whatever may be her faults, she has succeeded in ridding herself of some of them, and in gesture, walk and pose this improvement is most marked. She still lacks facility in expressive speaking. Thus the presentation is of a spectacular sort, and on that fact will have to depend success or failure. The single scene which perhaps impresses the interested spectator most is revealed in the entrance of _Cleopatra’s_ barge--“a bizarre painting of Egypt’s historical convoy, with its flowing sails of magenta, its glittering front and sides, its silver oars, its fawning slaves, and, over all, the tinkle of drowsy music.” The acting version of the play is by Mr. Kyrle Bellew, who himself assumes the character of _Antony_. He is not a roystering old ruffian; one does not behold scarred limbs and grizzled locks. The _Antony_ of Kyrle Bellew is tender in speech, soft in action, and ever the lover. The play is scheduled for an extended run, and will doubtless receive a generous share of attention.

MACBETH.

At the Fifth Avenue Theater Mrs. Langtry has been acting _Lady Macbeth_, and has won a good measure of success, which deserves recognition for the reason that her conception of the part differs from that acceptable to most Americans. Charlotte Cushman’s _Lady Macbeth_ was a grim, imperious virago, and we have accepted that version as the true one. In Irving’s celebrated revival of the play, Ellen Terry presents a coaxing, loving, charming contradiction to the Cushman model. Mrs. Langtry has chosen a middle path. While not wholly able to cope successfully with the part, she gives a thoroughly interesting portrayal. In the sleep-walk scene she is bravely original. Utterly sacrificing her comeliness, she comes out from her bedroom like a veritable corpse from a tomb, a figure to shudder at in a theatre and to fly from if met near a churchyard. While her reading of this

## particular scene will call forth some condemnation perhaps, considerate

judgment must also accord praise.

The _Macbeth_ of Mr. Charles Coghlan was thoughtful, but hardly satisfactory. It lacks the fire and passion which make the character such a strong one in the hands of some actors. Mr. Joseph Wheelock, as _Macduff_, was as successful as that conscientious actor usually is in all he undertakes, and he called forth the enthusiasm of all by his painstaking work. On the whole the venture may be looked upon as a success.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: ~Among the Books~]

“~The~ Harvard Index” for 1888-89 is a very complete directory of the students and the various literary and sporting organizations in college. A valuable feature is the list of best-on-record performances, both collegiate and other, for America and England.

* * * * *

~One~ of the best and most artistic college annuals is the Princeton, 90, “Bric-à-Brac.” Some of the drawings are quite elaborate, and very much to the point. The records of the doings of the different associations, and the list of students, are as complete as it was possible to make them.

* * * * *

~A series~ of interesting books is issued by the well-known house of Lee & Shepard, under the general title of “Good Company.” The name is well bestowed, and the thoughtful reader will find, as he becomes acquainted with the various members of the company, that there is much which he can note with profit. Not only is the company good, but the dress is neat and inviting. The books before us are: “The Lover,” by Steele; “The Wishing-Cap Papers,” by Leigh Hunt; “Fireside Saints,” by Douglas Jerrold; “Dream Thorpe,” by Alexander Smith; “A Physician’s Problems,” by Charles Elam; “Broken Lights,” by Frances Power Cobbe, and “Religious Duties,” by the same author.

The same publishing house has issued a new edition of Rev. P. C. Headley’s biography of “Fighting Phil.” This book, intended for young readers, well describes the life of the dashing general, and at this time, when his personal memoirs are receiving such marked attention, the simpler story of Rev. Mr. Headley will be widely read by boys.

* * * * *

~An~ excellent library of sports and pastimes, the Badminton, is being issued by Longmans, Green & Co. Those who are seeking for knowledge on any of the subjects dealt with will find the results of many years’ experience written by men who are in every case adepts at the sport of which they write. There have already appeared, “Hunting,” “Fishing,” “Racing and Steeple-chasing,” “Cycling,” “Athletics and Football.” The latest additions to the library are “Boating” and “Cricket.” The former volume is by W. B. Woodgate, a veteran oarsman; the latter by A. G. Steel and the Hon. R. H. Lyttelton. The text is handsomely illustrated, and in every respect are the volumes to be recommended. Every sportsman should have a complete set of this series of books; they are an ornament to any library, and the information contained in them such as can not readily be obtained in other books on sports.

* * * * *

“~Cruisings~ in the Cascades,” by the well-known author G. O. Shields, is in the press of Rand, McNally & Co., of Chicago. It is a record of an extended hunting tour, made by the author in the Cascade Mountains in Oregon, Washington Territory, and British Columbia. The work is handsomely illustrated from drawings and from instantaneous photographs taken by Mr. Shields.

* * * * *

~An~ entertaining work, not only for grown people, but also for boys, is John Augustus O’Shea’s “Military Mosaics.” The author has tried to be faithful to truth, and the language used is as close an approach to that which men would speak under the circumstances as can well be given in print. This effort on the part of the author is to be heartily commended, since boys are naturally anxious to know if things are what they seem. In the author’s words, “There is not an event set down which did not happen, or might not have happened, and to the soldier’s life, as to all others, there is a seamy side.” Thus we are told of hardships, fatiguing marches, exposure to all sorts of weather, and are impressed with the fact that the chief pleasures of warfare are those of memory. Messrs. W. H. Allen & Co., London, are the publishers.

The same firm has brought out “Orient and Occident,” a journey east from Lahore to Liverpool, by Major-General R. C. W. Reveley Mitford. It is a description of a home-coming by routes little traveled. China, Japan and the United States are successively visited, and as the author drifts from place to place he rather pleasantly gives us his impressions. The text is embellished with illustrations from sketches by the author.

A useful book for the yachtsmen who wish to spend some time cruising in the Mediterranean is “Shooting and Yachting in the Mediterranean,” by A. G. Bagot. Of course the yachtsman always provides himself with guns, and is ever ready to “pepper away.” However, it is rather the rule that he fails to bag his game. In “Shooting and Yachting” he will find much useful information on this point, as well as learn of localities to be visited, dangers to be avoided, etc. Not the least valuable part of Mr. Bagot’s work are the practical hints to yachtsmen, and the list of yacht-clubs with which the book closes. Allen & Co., London, are the publishers.

* * * * *

~The~ author of the “Book of the Black Bass” has issued through the press of Robert Clarke & Co., Cincinnati, a supplement, which he calls very happily “More About the Black Bass.” In it he presents the latest developments in the scientific and life history of this best of American game fishes, and describes the most recent improvements in tools, tackle and implements. The little work appears at a most opportune time.

* * * * *

~In~ his “Hunting Notes” “Borderer” gives a valuable resumé of the season’s work. While of no direct interest to the American reader, these notes present an admirable picture of the way hunting is done in Old England, and to those who follow the hounds in this country, and their number is increasing from year to year, a perusal of “Hunting Notes” will be profitable and entertaining. The publishers are A. H. Baily & Co., London.

[Illustration: AMENITIES]

I’M SINGLE NO LONGER, YOU KNOW.

’Twas while kneeling at beauty’s fair shrine, In the years that I fain would regain, Spinster Fate drugged my vintage of wine, And entangled me fast in her skein. In the days ere my star’s sudden wane, I was thought a most handsome young beau, But I’m now called “decidedly plain,” For I’m single no longer, you know!

Edith said that my eyes were divine As we strolled thro’ the green country lane-- That the girls thought my figure was fine, I discovered from sweet Mary Jane; But alas for a once happy swain, With the virtues of one year ago! I am met with a haughty disdain, For I’m single no longer, you know!

Tho’ these ballades and rondeaux of mine Had the verdict of “quite in the vein,” They say now I am shunned by the _Nine_, And my verses are ruthlessly slain. Tho’ by courtesy we are called twain, ’Tis my wife that comprises the Co., And of course I’ve no right to complain, For I’m single no longer, you know!

* * * * *

In a word, to conclude the refrain, I have hung up my fiddle and bow, I have mortgaged my castles in Spain, For I’m single no longer, you know!

_Sanborn Gove Tenney._

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FOR A PRESENT WHAT COULD BE BETTER THAN A SUBSCRIPTION?

[Illustration: SCRIBNER’S MAGAZINE]

Among the Artists represented are:

ELIHU VEDDER. J. ALDEN WEIR. J. W. TWACHTMAN. M. J. BURNS. WILLIAM HOLE. GEORGE HITCHCOCK. J. FRANCIS MURPHY. WILL H. LOW. W. H. GIBSON. J. D. WOODWARD. ROBERT BLUM. C. JAY TAYLOR. ALFRED KAPPES. ELBRIDGE KINGSLEY. BRUCE CRANE. WALTER L. PALMER.

SCRIBNER’S MAGAZINE.

_Christmas Number Now Ready._

The completion of the second year of ~Scribner’s Magazine~ will be signalized by the publication of a remarkably beautiful and interesting =Christmas Number=. There will be about _sixty illustrations_, one-third of them full-pages of rich design.

=ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON= will contribute a second instalment of his romantic novel, “_The Master of Ballantrae_,” strikingly illustrated by William Hole.

=H. C. BUNNER’S= “_Squire Five Fathom_” is a delicate and finely imagined story. C. Jay Taylor of _Puck_, will fully illustrate it.

=REBECCA HARDING DAVIS= will tell a story of life at a wayside station in the North Carolina mountains. Illustrations by Alfred Kappes.

=W. M. TABER= will contribute an unusually ingenious tale of a mystery entitled “_Three Bad Men_,” with illustrations by Francis Day and M. J. Burns.

=JOHN J. à BECKETT= will tell the story of a sentiment. Its title is “_The Roses of the Señor_,” and it will be illustrated by Robert Blum.

=WILL H. LOW=, the artist, will describe the origin and rapid growth in the United States of the art of making stained-glass windows; with beautiful reproductions of windows by La Farge, Armstrong, Tiffany and Lathrop.

=WINTER IN THE ADIRONDACKS= will be picturesquely described by Hamilton Wright Mabie, and elaborately illustrated by W. Hamilton Gibson, Bruce Crane, J. Francis Murphy, and J. D. Woodward.

=LESTER WALLACK’S= Reminiscences will be concluded; fully illustrated with portraits--one, taken last summer, representing Mr. Wallack at his country home, with his favorite dog at his feet.

=GEORGE HITCHCOCK=, the artist, will write of Botticelli. Illustrations from drawings by the author.

=ILLUSTRATED POEMS= will be a feature of the number, one of them, “~The Lion of the Nile~,” containing four pictures by ~Elihu Vedder~.

=MR. STEVENSON= concludes for this year his series of monthly papers with “_A Christmas Sermon_.”

The publishers of ~Scribner’s Magazine~ aim to make it the most popular and enterprising of periodicals, while at all times preserving its high literary character. 25,000 new readers have been drawn to it during the past six months by the increased excellence of its contents (notably the Railway articles), and it closes its second year with a new impetus and an assured success. The illustrations will show some new effects, and nothing to make ~Scribner’s Magazine~ attractive and interesting will be neglected.

Price, 25 Cents a Number; $3.00 a Year.

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 743-745 Broadway, N. Y.

FRAUDS IN POROUS PLASTERS.

Those who cannot originate, =imitate=, and all so-called Porous Plasters are only fraudulent imitations of =ALLCOCK’S=. If you want the genuine article, be certain not only to ask for

“=ALLCOCK’S=,”

but look well at the plaster and see that this

=Trade=

[Illustration]

=Mark=

is on every one. None are genuine without it.

ROYAL

[Illustration: FULL WEIGHT

ROYAL BAKING POWDER

ABSOLUTELY PURE

TRADE MARK

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ROYAL REGISTE]

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This powder never varies. A marvel of purity, strength and wholesomeness. More economical than the ordinary kinds, and cannot be sold in competition with the multitude of low test, short weight, alum or phosphate powders. _Sold only in cans._ ~Royal Baking Powder Co.~, 106 Wall St., N.Y.

GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878.

=BAKER’S=

Breakfast Cocoa.

[Illustration]

Warranted =_absolutely pure Cocoa_=, from which the excess of Oil has been removed. It has _more than three times the strength_ of Cocoa mixed with Starch Arrowroot or Sugar, and is therefore far more economical, _costing less than one cent a cup_. It is delicious, nourishing, strengthening, easily digested, and admirably adapted for invalids as well as for persons in health.

* * * * *

=Sold by Grocers everywhere.=

* * * * *

W. BAKER & CO., Dorchester, Mass.

GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878.

=BAKER’S=

Vanilla Chocolate

[Illustration]

Like all our chocolates, is prepared with the greatest care, and consists of a superior quality of cocoa and sugar, flavored with pure vanilla bean. Served as a drink, or eaten dry as confectionery, it is a delicious article, and is highly recommended by tourists.

* * * * *

=Sold by Grocers everywhere.=

W. BAKER & CO., Dorchester, Mass.

UNITED STATES

~Government~

AND OTHER DESIRABLE

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FOR

INVESTORS

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28 Nassau Street, New York.

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[Illustration]

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[Illustration]

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1 CONDUIT STREET, REGENT STREET, LONDON.

LORENZ REICH, IMPORTER OF THE CHOICEST AND PUREST HUNGARIAN WINES, Commended by the most Eminent Medical Men of this Country.

[Illustration: UNGAR-WEIN. NULLUM VINUM NISI HUNGARICUM Tokayer Ausbruch REGISTERED 1872]

THIS IS TO CERTIFY that I have examined Mr. Reich’s ~Tokayer Ausbruch~, ~Tokayer Maslas~, and ~Budai Imp.~ I take great pleasure in commending these wines to the medical profession because of their _purity_.

R. OGDEN DOREMUS, M.D., LL.D.,

_Prof. of Chemistry and Toxicology, Bellevue Hospital Med. Coll., and Prof. of Chemistry and Physics, Coll. City of N. Y._

Tokayer Ausbruch and Tokayer Maslas, Vintage of 1874.

=Somlayai Imp.= (White Wine), and =Budai Imp.= (Red Wine), =Vintage of 1874.=

SLIVOVITZ (Prune Brandy), 1868.

Sherries from the Vineyards of J. J. V. VEGAS, Frontera, Spain.

RAYAS, PALO CORTADO, AMONTILLADO PASADO, SANTO TOMAS.

ALSO, SOLE AGENT U. S. A. AND CANADA, FOR THE FOLLOWING BRANDS CHAMPAGNE:

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_All orders promptly filled and shipped to any part of the United States. Beware of Impositions, as unscrupulous dealers are buying up my empty bottles._

The Kodak Camera

Anybody can use the ~Kodak~ without learning anything about photography, further than the mere operation of pointing the camera and ~PRESSING A BUTTON~. No dark rooms or chemicals necessary. The camera is loaded for =100= pictures.

~The Kodak System~ is a ~DIVISION OF LABOR~ whereby all the work of finishing the pictures is done at the factory, where the camera is sent by mail to be reloaded, and is available for those who have no time, inclination or facilities for learning photography.

Any Amateur can, of course, finish his own pictures if desirable.

If you want to know more about the Kodak, send for a copy of the Kodak Primer: a beautiful illustrated pamphlet containing Kodak photograph, free, by mail.

The Eastman Dry Plate and Film Co.,

PRICE, $25.00. ~Rochester, N. Y.~

_For sale by all Photo. Stock Dealers._

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